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SIR 
 
 RALPH WILLOUGHB? 
 
SIR 
 RALPH WILLOUGHBY: 
 
 AN HISTORICAL TALE 
 OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 IN WHICH ARE INSERTED 
 
 THE DEDICATORY SONNETS OF EDMUND SPENSER, 
 
 AVITH SKETCHES OF CHARACTER, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OFCONWGSBY 
 
 FLORENCE 
 
 PRINTED BY I. MAGHERI 
 
 l820. 
 
 

 
 ::-•■■*.•. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 J. he readers of the English 
 publications, which for the last 
 
 forty or fifty years hale gone 
 under the name of Novels , 
 will here find nothing to their 
 taste. This Tale is intended 
 
 for those , whose minds have 
 been formed in a different 
 school. A vehicle has been sought 
 
 for the conveyance of those 
 sentiments of the heart y with 
 which every age and every 
 
 a r* O 
 
6 
 
 country can sympathise: which 
 come home to us in those mo- 
 ments of reflection, when sor- 
 row and disappointment teach 
 us to be serious and wise : 
 which j when the wild exu- 
 berance and blind vanity of 
 youthful hope have subsided , 
 are hailed by all those , whose 
 bosoms are capable of being 
 ameliorated by time y or whose 
 heads are capable of being 
 taught by experience. 
 
 The subject chosen on the 
 present occasion is partly His- 
 torical : but the Hero is ima- 
 
7 
 ginary. An ideal person has 
 
 been placed amid real scenes ; 
 and real characters. 
 
 The advantages of Fiction over 
 History in elucidating general 
 truths have been too often ex- 
 plained to permit the repetition 
 of them. He j who is confined 
 to the relation of what has 
 actually happened \ in telling 
 what is true in particular ins- 
 tances, may be confined to tell^ 
 what /snot generally true: the 
 author, who invents with pro- 
 bability^ freed from such tram- 
 mels j can better exemplify 
 
8 
 -what is of universal import. 
 In a portrait the merit is in 
 particularity ; in a fiction , 
 the reverse. 
 
 The author , whose ambition 
 is to adapt his writings to a 
 wide circulation , would per- 
 haps do ill to choose the pre- 
 sent plan. If the common Novel- 
 readers will little relish it 
 from its not affording any 
 mirror of modern manners ; 
 nor any love-intrigue ; nor any 
 surprizing adventures of Beings, 
 who never could have existed; 
 and forms and fashions of so- 
 
 • 
 
9 
 ciety , that never could have 
 
 taken place , in any age, in 
 any country , the more sober 
 reader will refuse to take it 
 up , because he sees it in the 
 shape of a Tale ; and there- 
 fore deems it too light for his 
 graver and more sober studies ! 
 The interest of Narrative is 
 either in the truth of the facts r 
 (to which history is confined); 
 or in their character ? their 
 combination and development ; 
 and the picturesque force with 
 which they are presented ; or 
 lastly in the just and touching 
 
IO 
 
 reflections naturally springing 
 from them, by which they are 
 accompanied. 
 
 To this last interest only the 
 present production aspires. 
 
 By the second sort of in- 
 terest it will be said that 
 the greatest genius is shewn ; 
 and the most powerful ins- 
 pressions are made . But as 
 there are endless diversities 
 in the duties and purposes of 
 the human mind, so use and 
 excellence ought not to be li- 
 mited to one species of intel- 
 lectual display. It is the task 
 
1 1 
 
 of some to exhibit the appea- 
 rances and symptoms of mo- 
 ral movements; of others , to 
 reason upon their causes and 
 effects . 
 
 JVe live in an age of lite- 
 rary charlatanism : what is 
 simple and natural has little 
 chance of making its way: we 
 are all for glare , and novelty, 
 and wonder: we like the ex* 
 tremes of the most laboured 
 and distorted artifice , and of 
 the most childish or most bar- 
 barous nakedness : we wish 
 to persuade ourselves , that 
 
12 
 
 we have for the first time 
 found out the paths of excel- 
 lence / and arrived at the due 
 fruits of Genius. Charlatans 
 in every age are successful for 
 a lit tie while. There was a time, 
 when Marino had thrown 
 into obscurity and neglect the 
 works and names of Dante 
 and of Petrarch ! I 1 ill autho- 
 rity supersedes taste, the Mob 
 will always be wrong! A dull 
 appetite requires to be excited 
 by the strongest mixtures. 
 
 The Dedicatory Sonnets of 
 Spenser are here introduced, 
 
i3 
 
 not for the purpose , as some 
 will suppose , of filling up the 
 pages , but of bringing them 
 into more general notice y and 
 to do fresh honour to those , 
 whom they commemorate. They 
 are marked by a singular fi- 
 delity of features , which per- 
 haps is their principal merit. 
 They bring to life persons , 
 whom the testimony of Spenser 
 alone is sufficient to prove wor- 
 thy of lasting fame. 
 
 If it be pleaded that a Tale 
 of Fiction is not the best channel, 
 by which to recall their memo- 
 
i4 
 
 ries, it may be answered, that 
 it affords opportunities which 
 may justify and embody pro- 
 bable conjecture , when suffi- 
 cient evidence is wanting to 
 make it a part of positive 
 biography . 
 
 If the spirit of the Times, 
 in which the scenes are laid, 
 is misrepresented y if Truth 
 in its general character at this 
 period is perverted , the use of 
 Fiction is badly chosen, and bad- 
 I)' applied : but if the result 
 of the whole is a picture ap- 
 propriate as well as animated, 
 
then some advantage is deri- 
 ved from this mode of convey- 
 ing instruction. The freedom^ 
 the selection, the force of sen- 
 timent , the vigour of expres- 
 sion , which it allows , give it 
 a superiority over the narrower 
 boundaries of recorded facts . 
 In choosing the sober cha- 
 racters of History to form the 
 personages of a Romance , the 
 author incurs a hazard of dull- 
 ness % above which the airy Beings 
 of Imagination would easily 
 raise him. But there is a time 
 for all things : we cannot al~ 
 
i6 
 ways travel in the clouds: we 
 must sometimes be content with 
 more tranquil and humble ex- 
 cursions : our flagging wings 
 require a repeated return to 
 repose upon the firm earth. The 
 author has not been unfamiliar 
 with such excursions ; but he 
 thinks it as undesirable, as it 
 is impossible , always to in- 
 dulge in them. 
 
 As to busy , crowded, and 
 intricate plot y well contrived 
 and fortunate rencontres, which 
 ly violent excitement and stri- 
 king contrasts keep up the 
 
*7 
 
 reader s strong interest in al- 
 ternations of painful suspence 
 and delighted discovery , 
 merits of this kind can only 
 be reached by an high species 
 of magical genius y and de- 
 serve all the praise , which a 
 reader of enlightened taste can 
 bestow upon them ! But this 
 ought not to exclude the value, 
 or the desert, or the praise of 
 other sorts of intellectual pro- 
 duction ! Nor are more simple 
 stories, and more simple mo- 
 des of combining incidents , 
 without some advantages over 
 
i8 
 them! They do not in the same 
 degree lose their interest 
 by a repeated perusal: the 
 know lege of the story does 
 not decrease the force of the 
 sentiments or the images : as 
 nothing depends on novelty 
 and surprize, so a frequent re- 
 currence but proves their stir- 
 ling value , and solidity of 
 basis. They rest on the essen- 
 tial ore of the ingredients: not 
 on the ingenuity of the form 
 given by the workman* 
 
 ft was said that the author 
 of the Pursuits of Literature 
 
*9 
 
 wrote tJie Text of his poem 
 
 as a peg to hang his Notes 
 upon. He who has filled his 
 mind by years of incessant 
 reflection, operating on a mo- 
 ral and acute sensibility, may 
 he justified in seeking various 
 modes of embody ing and com- 
 municating part of those stores, 
 with which his intellect over- 
 flows. There are thousands of 
 nice distinctions / of forcible 
 and convincing remarks; of 
 pathetic or amiable and in- 
 structive sentiments ; which 
 
may thus be brought forward 
 and preserved, and be expres- 
 sed with a clearness, a felicity, 
 or a glow of language, that 
 would otherwise have never 
 risen , or have vanished with 
 the rapidity of the clouds . 
 
 Let the reader , who can 
 sympathise with a virtuous 
 and generous emotion, or a no- 
 ble resolve of heart , or a su- 
 blime conclusion of thought , 
 answer , if he does not feel 
 ameliorated and elated , when 
 he meets with these pictured 
 
records of ideal excellence ! 
 The knowlege of the Story 
 -will not much diminish wha- 
 tever interest there may be in 
 these passages. Yet the Narra- 
 tive is the best mode by which 
 they could have been introduc- 
 ed ; and often the only mode 
 by which they would have been 
 suggested! 
 
 Are these then the idle oc- 
 cupations of an Understanding, 
 which Age ought to have ma- 
 tured ? or are they not rather 
 the mellow fruits , which the 
 
22 
 
 experience of Time will jus- 
 
 tify p 
 
 It is not in youth, that our 
 moral opinions take that depth 
 of colouring j those prevailing 
 marks of sincerity, which the 
 long sufferings of humanity , 
 -which disappointment \ and the 
 vanity of possession , inflict 
 on us . 
 
 If the production of a com- 
 mon Novel seems among the 
 easiest achievements of litera- 
 ture, because it is daily ma- 
 nufactured by the most Mite- 
 
23 
 
 rate and stupid of those who 
 hold a pen, it must not be sup- 
 posed, that to execute this sort 
 of composition well, requires 
 slight talents! 
 
 The author of Guy Mamie- 
 ring , etc. has shewn of late 
 years , to 'what an height of 
 genius , and of inexhaustible 
 invention, prose romances may 
 be carried! 
 
 This work , as it has been 
 said , aspires to no such crea- 
 tive richness : it is intended 
 as a vehicle of moral and his- 
 
H 
 
 torical remarks; which not- 
 withstanding the volume may 
 be confounded by the ignorant 
 with common Novels , will not 
 on that account , if they are 
 intrinsically just ? lose their 
 interest with the judicious. 
 
 S. E. B. 
 
 Florence 17 April 1820. 
 
RALPH WILLOUGHBY 
 
 A T A L E 
 
 jLXalpb Willoughby was the third of sir 
 sons of Sir Charles .V ; l : oaghby fi.iight, 
 who used the title of Lord Ufiuinton., 
 though thathonour had been attainted aud 
 forfeited, in consequence of his Father's 
 concern in the Northern rebellion of the 
 Earls of Westmoreland and Northum- 
 berland . 
 
 These misfortunes had forced Lord Uf- 
 fington abroad; and there he had passed 
 many years of his life in comparative 
 obscurity . He had wandered from the 
 Netherlands through France, Germany r 
 
 t 
 
2 
 
 Switzerland, and Italy . His children had 
 thus received a varied and enlarged edu- 
 cation j and were all accomplished, as far 
 as their native talents would admit . 
 
 Ralph had shewn more abilities than 
 the rest; a much greater quickness iu 
 learning; and a more active and acute 
 spirit of remark . But he was supposed to 
 be rfttjtjc moody m ii's temper; and less 
 compliant to the manners and habits of 
 society, than his brothers. 
 
 What recommended him especially to 
 his father's favour and notice was a plain- 
 tive yet indignant resentment oi the ad- 
 versity and fallen state of his family. 
 The mode in which he felt, and excited 
 interest, on this subject, gave it a sort 
 of character of romance . 
 
 Lord Uffington made every effort to 
 obtain Q. Elizabeth's reconciliation and 
 
3 
 
 forgiveness : but the Queen was stern; 
 and little inclined to feel the emotions 
 of compassion . He had another obstacle 
 in his way : he was of the blood of the 
 DeUipoleS) who were a proscribed race. 
 
 The utmost concession he couid pro- 
 cure was a licence to his sons to visit Eng- 
 land; and to endeavour by courses of 
 fidelity aud loyalty to lay the grounds 
 of future mercy . 
 
 Ralph, in particular, was fixed upon 
 by his Father for this purpose: and his 
 slender means were strained to enable 
 him to do it with effect . Lord UfGngton 
 had a very high opinion of Ralph's ge- 
 nius : and trusted to the fruits of it, in 
 worldly advancement, with the fondest 
 and brightest anticipations. 
 
 Ralph was as ambitious and as san- 
 
4 
 
 guine, as his father would have him to 
 be : but there was not an exact agree- 
 ment in their ideas of ways and means . 
 Each was so fearful of a clearer understand- 
 ing upon this subject,- and so desirous to 
 delude himself that, each carefully avoid- 
 ed pressing the other to be explicit. 
 
 Ralph was far from being at his ease 
 in England . He made no progress among 
 persons of consequence : he gained no 
 notice for his talents. He was deficient 
 in that apparent compliance with the 
 genius and conduct of others, which is 
 the graad mean of worldly success . He 
 trusted to reason, to eloquence, to the 
 consciousness of rectitude. 
 
 It is always as dangerous to be above, 
 as to be below the age, in which we live. 
 Wilioughby's very qualities of preeinin- 
 
5 
 
 ence were in his way . His talents raised 
 envy and hatred; his birth caused equal 
 disinclination towards him . 
 
 It was denied, that the long line of 
 illustrious blood, that flowed in his veins, 
 gave any pretension to distinction, or fa- 
 vour . Actual wealth ; immediate posses- 
 sion of place ; or power, were asserted to be 
 the only practical titles to preference in 
 the distribution of promotion, honours 5 
 confidence, employment. Yet the men 
 "who set forth these grouuds of favourit- 
 ism, gave themselves the most insolent 
 airs of birth to those, who were their 
 inferiors iu descent, but their superiors 
 in wealth. 
 
 There were certain new families in 
 thosi; days, as in these, who endeavoured 
 to bear down all by the weight of purse. 
 
 An accident at length introduced 
 
6 
 Ralph into the acquaintance of the Mi- 
 nister Lord Burleigh . That Minister had 
 oeeasion for a young man familiar wiih 
 the manners of a particular Court. Ralph 
 had spent several of his early years there. 
 A friend took the opportunity of intro- 
 ducing him upon that ground. 
 
 Lord Burleigh listened to his answers 
 on the questions put to him with pro- 
 found attention . He was pleased with 
 his clearness; and the sagacity of his re- 
 marks . The character of one person es- 
 pecially, of whom Lord Burleigh required 
 particulars, was given with so much vi- 
 vacity, and discrimination, that the old 
 statesman began to think, that Ralph 
 might be of especial service to him. 
 
 He took him into favour: the period 
 was critical .-sagacity, deep insight, varied 
 knowlege, were requisite: the routine of 
 
7 
 office failed : the foresight, which could 
 
 judge of future conduct in untried si- 
 tuations, was demanded. Lord Burleigh 
 found Ralph equal to the occasion. 
 
 Ralph now for a time ruled over the 
 Minister's bureau. His ascendancy had 
 too broad a light, not to daunt his com- 
 petitors W the same office. Ralph's for- 
 tune seemed made: he thought so him- 
 self. A daughter of Burleigh cast favou- 
 rable eyes on him: the Minister himself 
 seemed to wink at it. 
 
 When the occasion had passed, Ralph 
 relapsed into intellectual pursuits more 
 congenial to his nature. He always re- 
 turned in a short time from the thorny 
 paths of politics in disgust. He gave him- 
 self up to the composition of a poem, in 
 which there was a mingled enthusiasm, in 
 favour of romantic love and heroic birth, 
 
Meantime the common duties of office 
 were neglected ; while the clouds, that 
 had been gathering on the Continent a- 
 gainst England, were dispersed. — The 
 men of common minds, and vulgar bu- 
 siness, again raised their heads 3 and re 
 sumed their courage. 
 
 An intrigue was now formed to oust 
 Ralph from Burleigh's confidence. 
 
 Ralph , careless , self-relying, without 
 craft, and without management, either 
 overlooked , or disdaip.ed, the net; that 
 were gathering round him. f Ie neither 
 concealed his propensities } uor his dis- 
 gusts. He circumvented no enemy : he 
 boldly came forward with open arms a- 
 gainst him. 
 
 His poetical talents were slily enlarged 
 upon to Burleigh on every occasion. Bur- 
 leigh hated poetry : he thought that it 
 
9 
 
 was a disqualification for all that was 
 
 solid in the conduct of life. He disliked it 
 still more , because it was the passion of 
 his enraged son-in-law, Edward Yere, 
 Earl of Oxford. 
 
 The history of the quarrel between 
 the Old Statesman and the poetical Peer 
 yet remains in some obscurity. It is said 
 that the Earl , in resentment for Bur* 
 leigh's refusal to save the Duke of Nor- 
 folk , vented his anger upon the Coun- 
 tess^ and dissipated his fortune that he 
 might beggar her children. The story is 
 out of all probability. Who would greatly 
 injure himself directly , that he might 
 iniure another more remotely ; and in 
 a less degree ? — 
 
 Oxford was a capricious character, vain; 
 proud; and perhaps unprincipled . The 
 more rational conjecture is , that his 
 
conduct was instigated by complicated 
 causes . 
 
 He had perhaps married Burleigh's 
 daughter from motives of interest. The 
 fortunes of his illustrious House were in 
 some degree of decay: the political con- 
 sequence of the old families was also de- 
 clining under Burleigh. Oxford might 
 hope that this alliance would re-instate 
 him: and give facilities to his aspiring 
 ambition: while the minister, a new 
 man , might be anxious to cover his new" 
 honours by the marriage of his daughter 
 with a Peer, perhaps the most ancient 
 and illustrious in birth , of all the Eng- 
 lish nobility. 
 
 Expectation is almost always disap- 
 pointed. Possession and familiarity might 
 bring chagrin on boih sides . Burleigh 
 could scarcely behold the qualities of 
 
11 
 Oxford's mind, brought under the expan- 
 sion of the sun, without discomfort; and 
 afterwards when ill will had commenced, 
 without abhorrence and disgust. There 
 is nothing, which this class of men hate, 
 like fancy and sentiment. The whole dis- 
 cipline of their intellects is bent to di- 
 vest every object, and every idea, of e- 
 very colour thrown upon them by these 
 creative influences. They think Poetry 
 not only devoid of superiority , but a 
 positively false and delusive Art. Now 
 and then they are heard to cite a coup- 
 let, or three or four verses, with praise: 
 but examine the character of that cita- 
 tion : it will be found to be some drj* 
 precept ; some practical axiom ; which 
 has nothing of the character of poetry 
 but the metre; and nothing of the beau- 
 ty of expression but terseness. 
 
12 
 
 It is not here meant to bring forward 
 Lord Oxford as a great genius ; or of 
 any striking poetical merit. Though per- 
 haps he ought only to be classed among 
 the minor wits , he had wit enough to 
 be the fair object of Lord Burleigh's dis- 
 taste . 
 
 Ralph Willoughby, though a lover of 
 similar walks of literature, was not on 
 cordial terms with Lord Oxford. He 
 found this nobleman too reserved $ too 
 affected; too selfish. Let me be excused, 
 after what I have said, for introducing 
 here Two of Spenser's Sonnets , prefi- 
 xed to the Fairy Queen ; the accuracy 
 of which may now be duly appreciated , 
 while they will furnish proof of the fi- 
 delity of my portraits. 
 
i3 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable , the Lord 
 Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer of 
 England . 
 
 To vou, right noble Lord, whose careful breast 
 To menage of most grave affairs is bent; 
 And on whose mighty shoulders most doth rest 
 The burden of this Kingdom's government^. 
 
 As the wide compass of the Firmament 
 On Atlas 1 mighty shoulders is upstaidj 
 Unfitly I these idle rhymes present, 
 The labour of lost time, and wit unstaid: 
 
 Yet, if their deeper sense be inly weighM; 
 
 And the dim veil, with which from common view 
 Their fairer parts are hid, aside be laid., 
 
 Perhaps not vain they may appear to you! 
 Such as they be, vouchsafe them to receive^ 
 And wipe their faults out of your censure grave- 
 
 Edmcsd Spexsek. 
 
id 
 
 The sarcasm at Burleigh for his con- 
 tempt of poetry, is here sufficiently ap- 
 parent; he calls it ironically 
 
 « The labour of lost time, and wit 
 unstaid: » then goes on slily to defend it 
 against this insinuation . 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the Right Honourable, the Earl of 
 Oxenford, High Chamberlain of 
 England, etc. 
 
 Receive, most noble Lord, in gentle gree 
 The unripe fruit of an unready wit,- 
 "Which by thy countenance doth crave to be 
 Defended from foul Envy's poisonous bit: 
 
 Which so to do doth thee right well befit, 
 Sith th 1 antique glory of thine ancestry 
 Under a shady veil is therein writ; 
 And eke thine own long-living memory 
 
i5 
 
 Succeeding them in true nobility,- 
 
 And also for the love, which thou dost bear 
 To th' Heliconian Imps, audthey to thee! 
 
 They uuto thee, and thou to them most dear ! 
 Dear as thou art uito thyself: so love 
 That loves and honours thee, as doth behove! 
 
 EdHDIO Sf£>SER« 
 
 I think it cannot be questioned that 
 the two last lines of this Sonnet contain 
 a sarcasm, as strong as that in the passage 
 of the former Sonnet pointed at Burleigh. 
 
 It was against Burleigh that the follow- 
 ing well-known and beautiful passage of 
 this Poet's Mother Hubberd's Tale 
 was levelled . 
 
 Full little knowen thou, that hast not tried, 
 "YY hat hell it is in suing loug to bide j 
 To lose good days, ; h t might be better spent j 
 To Tvaste long nights in pen-ive discontent^ 
 To speed to day, to be put back to-morrow 
 
i6 
 
 To feed on hope; to pine witft fear an J sorrow ; 
 To have thy Prince 1 s grace; yet want her Peer's; 
 To hare thy asking, yet wait many years; 
 To fret thy -soul with crosses and with cares; 
 To eat thy heart with comfortless despairs; 
 To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run; 
 To spend, to give, to want, to be undoue! 
 
 It was at this time, and under the pre- 
 valence of these notions, that the secret 
 enemies of Ralph WiJloughby disclosed 
 to Burleigh the extent of his addiction 
 to poetical pursuits . They procured 
 surreptitiously the outline of his Poem, 
 and many large extracts . 
 
 This composition abounded with 
 Imaginary Personages , designed with a 
 free and glowing pencil: and luxuriating 
 in ideal Beings, in which the fancy knows 
 that it is dealing with excellence unat- 
 tainable in the human form. 
 
'7 
 It was the purpose of the betrayers ol 
 
 this poem, to give it a literal interpreta- 
 tion , political , or personal. A pretence 
 was made to give a construction to 
 numerous passages . by which the life ot 
 Burleigh was said to be alluded to; audi 
 not only bitterly censured, hoX libelled. 
 Even the atrocious falsehood was hazard- 
 ed, that this mode was taken to betray 
 secrets abroad, learned from Burleigh in 
 hh coivOdential capacity . To add plau- 
 sibility to this, and at the same time to 
 aggravate his treachery, it was insinuated 
 that Ralph was nothing more than a spy 
 for the Foreign Interests, in which his 
 Family had formerly been engaged ', and 
 that a variety of Cabinet-secrets were 
 thus to be laid open to them; while there 
 thus seemed to be an impunity in the 
 
i8 
 transaction; and an impossibility to brine 
 tbe treason home to him. 
 
 It required much iugenuity to give 
 any appearance, and, stiil more, any con- 
 sistency, to these charges. Three or four 
 very subtle heads, easily found in Bur- 
 leigh's Household, did this . They em- 
 ployed themselves a -whole winter in 
 constructing it. They had emissaries in the 
 family of Lord Uffington abroad : and 
 they procured by briberv the agency of a 
 person, who had formerly, when a young 
 man, been in the Northern Rebellion 
 with the Lords Westmoreland and Nor- 
 thumberland . 
 
 Burleigh was now growing very old; 
 and his faculties were beginning to decay. 
 He was fully conscious of the intrigues, 
 the caution, the industry, the artifices, 
 
*9 
 
 by which he himself had been successful; 
 and he knew therefore that for that path 
 of preeminence there was no rest . By 
 the sanie modes as he had triumphed 
 over others, would others triumph over 
 him, the moment he relaxed his exertions. 
 
 His latter days therefore were not days 
 of dignified repose, but of tormenting 
 anxiety. He had now become not merely 
 cautions, and inquisitive, but morbidly 
 suspicious, and fretful. Such a scheme 
 as Ralph's enemies had formed, could 
 not at an earlier period have had a chanct 
 of success. 
 
 Burleigh's last daughter had for some 
 time encouraged the addresses of Ralph. 
 It was flattering to a young man , the 
 younger son of a ruined family, to be 
 thus distinguished . Gersenda Cecil was 
 a perfect coquet ; lively, sensible, saga- 
 
20 
 
 cious, witty. She had a brown, but deaf 
 complexion, expressive eyes, and good 
 features. Her person was small, but de- 
 licately made. When Ralph was in her 
 father's highest favour, she was struck 
 with his talents, his person, and his 
 manners. She began then to please her- 
 elf with the lustre of his birth; and to 
 see in him the revival of all ihe honours, 
 and all the power, of his family. 
 
 Ralph had strongly in his mind his 
 father's wishes and injunctions. He saw 
 fully all the advantages of this alliance: 
 his sanguine temper fancied, in what he 
 wished, all that his judgment ought to 
 approve. He began to be in love with the 
 ereatureofhisimagination.Gersenda took, 
 in his mind, colours which did not be- 
 long to her: and he worshiped the idol 
 formed by his own brain. 
 
2 1 
 
 The plotters against the esteem , m 
 which he had hitherto been held by 
 Burleigh, now began to perceive that 
 they had made some impression on the 
 opinions of the Old Statesman . He said 
 to himself « the verses shewn to me are 
 certainly W illou.vhby's composit'on: they 
 are many of them in his own hand- 
 writing; and they are so marked with 
 erasures and corrections, as to prove that 
 they cannot be copies . This I t' ke to be 
 strong prima facie presumption against 
 the young man . When I took him into 
 my ser\ice, I had not a suspicion that 
 he had this silly turn . I lay it down as a 
 rule, which scarcely admits of an excep- 
 tion, that no mon continues for any time 
 fit for business; or is ever to be relied 
 upon for that patient perseverance 9 by 
 which aloue success in the management 
 
$1 
 
 of human affairs is secured, — who is 
 tinged by the mania of this empty pur- 
 suit . 
 
 cc I hove been tolerably lucky in the 
 world : I have raised myself from a very 
 moderate station, into rank, and affluence, 
 and power, such as few subiects have so 
 long enjoypd in England; especially in 
 tempestuous times The I\ation,andI may 
 add, Europe generally, have given me 
 credit for abilities , and wisdom . I am 
 well aware that these qualities, if I possess 
 them , have had but one source . It is 
 labour: well directed and unrelaxing 
 labour ! the labour of separating truth 
 from falsehood; of stripping all the ob- 
 jects of life of their disguises; of seeing 
 things, not as they first appear; but as 
 cold examination , and reflection prove 
 them to be! 
 
a3 
 
 « Is it not the business of Poetry to 
 do the d'rect contrary of this ? Does it 
 not seek for delusions? Docs it not en- 
 deavour to prolong false colours? 
 
 cc But while I have succeded, who are 
 the men, that have failed? Men, who 
 taunted me in youth! men, with whom 
 in quickness , in fancy « in the empty 
 faculty, called eloquence, 1 could no 
 more vie than an owl with an eagle ! 
 How often has Buckhurst bowed with 
 humility beneath my sager knowlege! 
 How otten has Sydney trembled bpneath 
 my frown ! How often has Raleigh turned 
 defeated from my penetrating look ! 
 
 « It is char then, that Ralph Willough- 
 by, whether there be any hidden meaning 
 in his verses, or not. is not fit for my con- 
 fidence ! But whatever I may privately 
 think, my sagacity is not so much decay- 
 
$4 
 
 ed, as to be insensible to tbe motives ot 
 his accusers. To them I will not discover 
 the conclusions, to which I have come . 
 I have made one mistake by admitting 
 this young man into the recesses of my 
 Cabinet : I will not commit another by 
 letting these plotters into the know T lege 
 that, through their means, I have convict- 
 ed myself of an error J 
 
 <c IN or huve I forgot , thnt I must not 
 hastily make an enemy of Willoughby . 
 These fancy bitten persons, if they can- 
 not do good, can do much ill . They have 
 the art of making great things out of 
 small; and many a little hint , that may 
 have been picked up in the course of my 
 affairs, maybe hatched into a treason. » 
 
 When Lord Burleigh received the com- 
 munications of these intriguers with 
 doubt and apparent coldness, they hesi- 
 
a5 
 
 tated how to proceed. But « lie loved the 
 treason, though he despised the traitors » 
 He was unwilling to lose whatever in- 
 formation they could give him: and 
 therefore by his very doubts contrived 
 to extort more and more from them. 
 
 Ralph still sat at Burleigh's table; un- 
 suspecting: sometimes pensive and silent; 
 but irradiated with inward smiles, and 
 glowing in the new creations of his fancy. 
 His enemies watched with anxious per- 
 tinacity the movements of his thoughts 
 They could not infer that Burleigh had 
 discovered to him any displeasure . Nor 
 was Burleigh so forgetful of the mask 
 he had worn through life: as to let them 
 S9e what he was meditating . 
 
 Gersenda alone, at moments when age 
 a little eased itself of the veil in the pre- 
 sence of filial affection, caught a glimpse 
 
 2 
 
%6 
 of what was working in the old man's 
 bosom. She saw that Ralph did not pos- 
 sess the place there, he had hitherto pos- 
 sessed. She was vain, curious, wavering, 
 full of schemes. She hada sortofacute- 
 ness, that prided itself in seeing the turns 
 and obliquities of the human character . 
 She elicited with a great deal of cunning 
 something of the nature of her father's 
 new discoveries , 
 
 She resolved totry the ground of these 
 suggestions with Ralph at their next in- 
 terview. She entered upon the subject of 
 Poetry with him, when they met at din- 
 ner the following day . He was reserved : 
 she was more pressing; he became cold: 
 she became angry. 
 
 The plotters overheard part of this 
 conversation; and resolved to take ad- 
 Vantage of it, A day"s consultation enabl- 
 
2 7 
 ed them to make t1i<- arrangement in a 
 
 way highly satisfactory to themselves . 
 They possessed the ear o fa female inGer- 
 senda's confidence. They instructed her 
 in a train of insinuations with regard to 
 the difference between the real and assum- 
 ed character of Ralph. They taught her 
 that he was a man of unequalled dissi- 
 mulation; never professing what he really 
 had in view; pursuing one object, while 
 his inclination was bent upon another ^ 
 and resolving to retrieve the desperation 
 of his fortune, and family honours, by 
 any sacrifice, or any deception. 
 
 They entered upon the poem; its cha- 
 racter; and tendeney . They said that , 
 couched beneath the outward fcble, 
 might be discovered all his secret attach- 
 ments, and genuine opinions. The whole 
 was a deep allegory, designed to blacken 
 
all the family of the Cecils. Burl eigh was 
 veiled under one of the principal perso- 
 nages, as a man eminent in no quality 
 but cunning: as selfish^ false, avaricious, 
 cruel, dishonest; as guided by narrow 
 and short sighted politics; and having no 
 end in view but private aggrandisement. 
 They went on to suggest that in every 
 description of female beauty^ his real 
 taste appeared decidedly opposed to. 
 every sort of charm , or pretension , 
 which characterized Gersenda : that the 
 principle every where insinuated was 
 the necessity of distiguising real incli- 
 nations : that a man might marry for in- 
 terest, and spend the money, so gained, 
 on those whom he prefered : and that 
 the State could never flourish, where 
 men were raised to power, on the pre- 
 teuce of abilities, not of birth ! 
 
2 9 
 Gersenda, discouraged id her attach- 
 ment by observing that clouds gathered 
 round the head of Ralph, was prepared 
 to entertain insinuations to his prejudice . 
 Her suspicions were alive ; her jealousy 
 became violent and angry. She reproach- 
 ed Ralph: she piqued his pride: she 
 ronsed his indignation . They quarreled, 
 and vowed eternal disunion . 
 
 Gersenda , full of resentment . now 
 resolved to confirm, and increase her 
 father's suspicions. In another month, 
 Ralph was dismissed from the service of 
 Burleigh . 
 
 Ralph wrote to his father the intellig- 
 ence of this dismissal . It came like the 
 blow of death upon the old min, already 
 broken by misfortunes. Ralph had been 
 the anchor of his onlv remaining hopes . 
 Through him, he flattered hioiself, that 
 
 
3o 
 before he closed his eyes in the grave, 
 he might have the blessing of seeing his 
 family restored to their country, their 
 rank, and their possessions. All the eon- 
 soliug prospect now vanished in a mo- 
 ment . With it fled the impulse, that 
 kept in motion the feeble remnant of life. 
 He lingered a day or two in a state ap- 
 proaching to insensibility; and then died. 
 
 This event struck with bitterness and 
 indignation upon the heart-strings of 
 Ralph . It aggravated twofold his own 
 disappointed views; and gave him a 
 kind of wild despair, that dangerously 
 augmented the native irregularities of 
 his mind . 
 
 He wandered about, sometimes receiv- 
 ed by his old friends from a generous 
 sense of the bad treatment he had exper- 
 ienced from Burleigh; and sometimes 
 
3i 
 
 winning his way by trie brilliance of his 
 talents, and the eccentric flashes of a dis- 
 ordered intellect . Happening to be 
 thrown into the company of the cele- 
 brated Robert Devereux Earl of Essex, 
 that nobleman was caught by his manner, 
 and a sort of occasional eloquence con- 
 genial to his own high spirit. 
 
 It will perhaps be deemed superfluous 
 to give the character of this great and 
 well known Peer. He had ma ay weaknes- 
 ses : and he rushed too rashly upon his 
 own fate: but he had noble and attractive 
 qualities, that reconcile us to all his faults. 
 A sort of romantic spirit carried him for- 
 ward to hope impossibilities: to despise 
 caution : to overlook intrigue, baseness, 
 and corruption; and to believe that grand 
 intentions, and high and generous darings, 
 would be crowned with success . Illus- 
 
32 
 
 trious in descent ; adorned with many 
 splendid mental and moral endowments; 
 lofty in titles and possessions ; taken early 
 into the Queen's peculiar favour; flatter- 
 ed from love, as well as from station; his 
 sanguine temper was inebriated by the 
 fumes of prosperity , by which his en- 
 trance into life was surrounded . 
 
 I have already given two Sonnets of 
 Spenser as confirmatory of the characters 
 of two of the historical personages of my 
 story before introduced . I will here add 
 a third. 
 
33 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the most honourable and excellent 
 Lord , the Earl of Essex , Great 
 Master of the Horse to her Highness , 
 and Knight of the most tioble order 
 of the Garter, etc* 
 
 Magnific Lord, whose virtues excellent 
 Do merit a most famous Poet's wit, 
 To be thy living praise's instrument,* 
 Yet do not sdain to let thy name he writ 
 
 In this base poem, for thee far unfit : 
 
 Naught is thy praise disparaged therebv • 
 But when my Muse, whose feathers nothing flit, 
 Do yet hat flag- and lowly learn to fly, 
 
 "Wiih bolder wing shall dare aloft to sty 
 To the last praises of this Fairy Queen,- 
 Then shall it make more famous memory 
 
 Of thine heroic parts, such as they heen . 
 Till then, vouchsafe thy noble countenance 
 To these first labours 1 needed furtherance ! 
 
 En.ML^n Spe?,sE6 
 
Lord Essex had at once a contempt 
 and hatred of the Burleigh party . Their 
 birth j their moral , mental, and political 
 qualities, were all odious to him . He was 
 too generous to endeavour to extort from 
 Ralph Willoughby a breach of confi- 
 dence : but he listened eagerly to the 
 import and colouring of Ralph's language; 
 and attentively weighed his opinions 
 upon many subjects, on which a peculiar 
 opportunity had been given him to form 
 them at the fountain-head . 
 
 Some of the advisers and dependents 
 who surrounded Essex were not as much 
 pleased with Ralph , as their Chief was. 
 They fancied that he partook too much 
 of their Lord's defects; and was therefore 
 likely to encourage too much his open- 
 ness, and imprudences . Anthony Bacon, 
 the elder brother of the immortal Chan- 
 
35 
 eellor, was amongst these. This man, 
 though nearly allied to Cecil, was Essex'6 
 confidential friend . He had acute abili- 
 ties; he was industrious ; intriguing \ and 
 sagacious. He played secretly between 
 the factions ; and was not willing that 
 his patron should know too much of the 
 Cecils . There was also an unsought 
 energy and eloquence about Ptalph , 
 which eclipsed the acute but studied 
 precision, end deep, but somewhat too 
 farfetched, deductions of Bacon: and 
 which Bacon disliked , and dreaded the 
 more, because they were too congenial 
 to his Master's natural taste . 
 
 Ralph was in too great a tumult of 
 feelings to determine with his usual sa- 
 gacity the exact value of the new society, 
 into which he was thrown . A desperate 
 man of high sensibility takes every occa- 
 
36 
 sion to fly from reality : to count every 
 moment of delusion, by which he caa 
 lull his fears and his regrets to sleep, as 
 a gain; and to catch at every glimpse of 
 light, that crosses the impenetrable black- 
 ness . 
 
 Instead of the cold, calculating system 
 of Burleigh's House , which destroyed 
 the charm of success itself, he found here 
 in Lord Essex and smh ofhis associates as 
 were most congenial to h'm , a manner 
 of thinking, that gilded defeat, and made 
 \ictory doubly gratifying and glorious . 
 Jt was a system rather for the heat of 
 youth, and the bloom of life , than for 
 the more chill contemplation of anxious 
 age. 
 
 If Ralph loved poetry before , the 
 flame of this divine spirit was doubly 
 cherished in his bosom by the romautic 
 
37 
 manners of Essex's household Here he 
 
 found men of wit ; men of learning j 
 men of the world: ▼oyagets ; travellers f 
 men of the Court; men of the CHtfse! 
 
 He coulJ not believe , that the same 
 characters could have been viewed in 
 such opposite lights, as he now found 
 they were. All the distinguished persons 
 of the d.iy vcre represented here in co- 
 lours totally dissimilar to those, in which 
 they had been described at the table of 
 Burleigh . Sir Robert Cecil, Burleigh's 
 younger son, with his associates, North- 
 umberland, Raleigh, and Cobham, were 
 covered with words either of foul calum- 
 ny, or pitiful scorn , 
 
 Ralph could not always agree with 
 these opinions; and he sometimes com- 
 bated them ably, but candidly. \S iih 
 Cobham he was iu some slight degree 
 
38 
 connected,- and Raleigh's splendid abili- 
 ties, and heroic spirit, had won his ad- 
 miration. With the family of Northum- 
 berland his own had been politically 
 leagued^ and to that had owed their mis- 
 fortunes and ruin . 
 
 Northumberland appears to have owed 
 his consequence rather to his rank than 
 to his personal abilities. This is the light, 
 in which Spenser seems to have viewed 
 him. 
 
39 
 
 SOX.XET 
 
 To the Right Honourable, the Earl of 
 Northumberland* 
 
 The sacred Muses have made always claim 
 To be the nurses of ^Nobility, 
 And registers of everlasting fame, 
 To all, that arms profess, and chivalry: 
 
 Then by like right the noble progeny, 
 
 Which them succeed infameandworth,are tied 
 T'embrace the service of sweet poetry, 
 Bv whose endeavours they are glorifiedj 
 
 And eke from all, by whom it is envied, 
 
 To patronize the author of their praise, (di«dj 
 "Which gives them life, that else would soon have 
 And crowns their ashes with immortal bays. 
 
 To thee therefore, right noble Lord, I send 
 This present of my pains, it to defend . 
 
4o 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh is perhaps one of 
 the most striking and interesting charac- 
 ters in British Biography. It is not easy 
 to say any thing new ol him . Many 
 have doubted whether his ambition was 
 sufficiently under the controul of nice 
 principles of conscience . It is singular, 
 that a great part of his poetry has been 
 buried, and lost, among the Anonymous 
 productions of his day. Some little pas- 
 toral pieces, for which he was celebrated, 
 are still known to be his : and I have no 
 doubt that to him belongs 
 
 Go } Soul, the Body's Guest c 
 though called in question by Mr. Gamp- 
 bell. 
 
 What can have become of his poem 
 of Cirlihial It seems certain thit it was 
 never published. — I am not confident 
 that Raleigh could have been a great 
 
$i 
 
 poet : he could have been at least a very 
 ingenious one . From the whole struc- 
 ture and tone of Spenser's Sonnets, that 
 Poet's tertimony alone would have bees 
 sufficient io convince me of this. 
 
SONNET 
 
 To the right noble and valorous Knight, 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Warden 
 of the Stanneries, and Lieutenant of 
 Cornwall . 
 
 To thee, that art the Summer's nightingale, 
 Thy Sovereign Goddess's most dear delight, 
 Why do I send this rustic madrigal, 
 That may thy tuneful ear unseason quite? 
 
 Thou only fit thisargume nt to write, (bowerj 
 In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her 
 And dainty Love learn'd sweetly to indite? 
 My rhymes I know unsavoury and sour, 
 
 To taste the streams, that like a golden shower, 
 Flow from thy fruitful head,of thy love's praise; 
 Fitter perhaps to thunder martial store, 
 "When so thee list thy lofty Muse to raise: 
 
 Yet till that thou thy poem wilt make known, 
 
 Let thy fair Cynthia spraiseshc thus rudely shown! 
 
 Edmdkd Spenser 
 
43 
 
 It happened almost immediately after 
 the defence -\chich Ralph had made to 
 the attacks on Northumberland and Ra- 
 leigh, that he passed a fortnight in their 
 company. Lord Cobham was'Ralph's cou- 
 sin. Tired of the smoke of London^ weary 
 of the uncertainty ofhiscondition;perhaps 
 disgusted by certain affronts or neglects 
 put upon him by those of Essex's com- 
 panions who were jealous of the growing 
 favour, which the Earl shewed to him, he 
 had wandered- scarcely knowing whither, 
 in search of country air, and country 
 quiet . 
 
 He found himself, in an hour or two, 
 amid the furze and free breezes of Black- 
 heath; and looking back upon the Capi- 
 tal, exclaimed, as Cowley exclaimed half 
 a century afterwards : cc Proud City, I 
 pity thee ! » — His heart had long 
 
u 
 
 laboured with tumultuous passions : he 
 was lost in deep musings; at length he 
 became exhausted, and burst into tears . 
 He^s^tOLUfiiu4ie trunk of a tree, which 
 had been Iitely felled: it was on the edge 
 of the public road, that ran from the 
 lower parts of Kent. He was so engrossed 
 by his own contemplations, that ho start- 
 ed when a voice addressed him , from 
 one, who approached him so near as to 
 touch his shoulder before he saw him. 
 
 It was Lord Cobham, journeying from 
 his seat at Cobham-Hall, near Rochester, 
 to the Capital. This nobleman, immedia- 
 tely recognizing him, addressed him with 
 familiarity and kindness . « Ralph Wil- 
 loughbyccsaid he« what do you do here? 
 and why so thoughtful ? »--I am tired of 
 the town, « answered he; «and seek for 
 country cjiiietJcc- «Then go down to 
 
45 
 
 Cobham. « replied Lord C. c« there are 
 North u mb'erla ad , and Raleigh arid a 
 chearful party there; and 1 shall be back to 
 morrow morning! ,, 
 
 Ralph did aot hesitate to accept the 
 invitation. Before it was dark, he had 
 already reached the Hallj and was cour- 
 teously and gladly received by a Party 
 who were delighted to see a new visitor, 
 known to them by his talents, and great 
 opportunities of information . 
 
 As Ralph had observed a vast diffe- 
 rence in the style of conversation at the 
 tables of Burleigh and Ess^x he was not 
 less impressed by zhe tone of that at 
 Cobham , unlike either of them. 1 1 had 
 nothing of the fervor of Essex: it had 
 scarcely more of the cold, and deep, and 
 profoundly-balanced reserve of Burleigh. 
 The alternations of brilliant remark, 
 
46 
 
 comprehensive knowlege, wit, sarcasm, 
 raillery, pleasantry, of Raleigh, were ad- 
 mirable; and almost overcoming. North- 
 umberland was a foil to him: he had a 
 great sense of the superiority of his birth, 
 rank, and possessions, and was always 
 Struggling to take advantage of it; but 
 the mnid of Raleigh overawed him . 
 
 It was part of Raleigh's temper to be 
 imperious . He saw acutely; and he had 
 a temper, which made it difficult to sup- 
 press the mention of what he saw. He 
 had too little mercy for the defects, or 
 foibles of others; and yet perhaps was a 
 selfdelnder. His ambition was a scorch- 
 ing fire: almost too ardent to be pure. 
 
 When Cohham returned home the 
 following day, Ralph Willoughby obser- 
 ved with some curiosity the manner, iu 
 which this nobleman was treated by his 
 
4? 
 
 gu^st. Cobham was weak, talkative, 
 busy, intriguing and ambitious. He was 
 of a family in this Country, iiot only 
 ancient: but for many ages noble . His 
 father had held high employments in the 
 State; and had proved himself wellde- 
 serving of them. Raleigh always leagued 
 himself with men of rank and connec- 
 tions: in an age^ in which the roads to 
 lofty preferment were scarce accessible 
 to any other men, his proud pretensions 
 saw the convenience, and even found the 
 necessity of this . 
 
 Poor Cobham was a mere instrument, 
 or play thing, in Raleigh's hands. It 
 was paiuful to Ralph to be witness to 
 the raillery, and ill-disguised contempt, 
 with which Raleigh treated his noble re- 
 lation . Cobham's excessive vanity filled 
 his bosom with envy. There were two 
 
48 
 noble families, not very distant neigh- 
 bours of Lis., to whom be discovered a 
 most jealous batred ; the Sackvilles of 
 Knowle; and the Sydneys of Pensburst. 
 The first was represented by a sublime 
 Poet, of whom Raleigh himself felt an 
 unworthy and ungenerous rivalry. This 
 illustrious genius had also been thus ce- 
 lebiated by Spenser. 
 
49 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right, honourable, the Lord of 
 Buckhurst y one of her Majesty's 
 Privy Council . 
 
 In vain I think, right honourable Lord, 
 By this rude rhyme to memorize thy name, 
 Whose learned Muse hath writ lier own record 
 In golden verse, worthy immortal fame: 
 
 Thou much more fit, (were leisure to the same,) 
 Thy gracieus Sovereign's praises to compile; 
 And her imperial Majesty to frame 
 In lofty numbers, and heroic style! 
 
 But sith thou mayst not so, give leave awhile 
 To baser wit his power therein to spend, 
 Whose gross defaults thy dainty pen may file, 
 Aud unadvised oversights amend,- 
 lut evermore vouchsafe it to maintain 
 Against vile Zoilus'backbitings vain- 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
5o 
 
 Lord Buckhurst. whom James J. af- 
 terwards created Ear] of Dorset, io his 
 early life appeared to the world as a 
 great Poet. b\ his sublime Induction 
 to the Legem d of the Duke of Buck* 
 Ingham^ inserted in the Second Edition 
 of the Collection of F'oetieal Legends, 
 Called the M.iror for Magistrates, 
 published at the commencement ot Q. 
 Elisabeth's reiga . Being related to the 
 Queen, on her mother's side, he was 
 immediately on her accession, taken into 
 favour at Court; and unfortunately for 
 his future lame, forgot, in the Courtier, 
 the higher occupations ot the Muse . 
 He does not appear to have mi&ed much 
 with the Dictions of the time: and 
 seems to have been more a man of pru- 
 dence, at least in his latter days, than 
 is usual with great poets . la his first 
 
5i 
 youth, as far as regards money, he had 
 been a spend-tbrift (*) . 
 
 Raleigh paid an unwilling obeisance 
 to the splendid talents , and lofty in- 
 vention, of Buckhurstrbut he complained 
 of his courtly manners; aud unadven- 
 turous habits. In truth, Buckhurst shun- 
 ned Raleigh, as of another mould: but 
 never ventured openly to offend him. 
 
 The rival House of Sydney had now 
 lost its greatest ornament , Sir Philip, 
 by a premature death . Ralph was an- 
 
 (*)//js old mansion at Buchhurst^ in 
 Sussex, was held for life* by his descen- 
 dant, the late Lord George Germaine, 
 Viscount Sackville, who died there : 
 and is now the jointure house of the 
 Duchess of Dorset , 
 
5* 
 xious to hear Raleigh's opinion of this 
 Phenomenon . — This severe estimator 
 of the human character did not deny 
 that Sir Philip was a luminary of ex- 
 traordinary brilliance: but he said that 
 his powers were not equal to his wishes; 
 that he was somewhat of a precisian: 
 and that he weakened his faculties by 
 diffusion: and by an attempt at too 
 universal excellence . 
 
 When Sir Philip's sister , the old 
 Countess of Pembroke, was mentioned, 
 Raleigh said that she was too stately, 
 and cold ; that hei' prejudices were too 
 insufferably aristocratical, and that she 
 had more learning, than genius. 
 
 Ralph answered mildly, that this was 
 not'Spenser's opinion; for that his Sonnet 
 in her praise was one of the warmest 
 .©f the whole set . Raleigh replied , 
 
53 
 
 that some allowance must be made 
 for the flattery , and over-coloured 
 phrases even of the sincerest poets ; 
 and that Spenser's gratitude to her 
 Brother, who was his earliest patron, 
 might justify peculiar fervor of lan- 
 guage . The following is Spenser's en- 
 comium . 
 
54 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable, and most 
 virtuous Lady > the Countess of 
 Pembroke. 
 
 Remembrance of that most heroic Spirit, 
 
 The Heaven's pride; the glory of our days; (rit 
 "W^'ch now triumpheth through imn.ortalme 
 Of his brave virtues, crowu'd with lasting hays , 
 
 Of heavenly bliss, and everlasting praise ,• 
 VVho first my Muse did lift out of the floor, 
 To sing his sweet delights in lowly lays, 
 Bids me, most Noble Lady, to adore 
 
 His goodly image, living evermore 
 
 In the divine resemblance of your face: 
 "Which with your virtues ye embellish more, 
 And native beauty deck with heavenly grace. 
 
 For his, and for your own especial sake, (take ! 
 
 Vouchsafe from him this token in good part to 
 
 Edmund Speinslr. 
 
55 
 
 If Ralph "Willoushbv could have 
 Otherwise forgotten the fame and splen- 
 dor of Sir Philip Sydney, he had a 
 daily memorial of it, while living in 
 the House of Essex. This nobleman had 
 married Sydney's widow; the daughter 
 of Sir Francis Walsingham : a lady, 
 who lived to obtain a third husband, 
 (after having lost the first in battle • 
 and the second, on a scaffold y) - the 
 Marquis of Clanricknrd . 
 
 Sir Francis V> ahingham was also a 
 Kentish man; and lived in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Cobham-Hall . — His cha- 
 racter as a Statesman in this reign 
 stands high . I know not that he has 
 left any proofs of genius: his political 
 abilities were good: but abilities and 
 genius are very dissimilar qualities . 
 He dues not seem to have had the 
 
56 
 dislike of poetry, which was entertain- 
 ed by Burleigh . On the contrary, 
 Spenser's pen has recorded , that he 
 was a « Mecenas »> of his age . He must 
 not be defrauded of the honour of this 
 eulogy. Who would not sacrifice much 
 to be memorialized in such immortal 
 words? His name has long passed from 
 the living : yet it shall hover over us 
 in brighter colours, than the living can 
 enjoy ! 
 
5 7 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable, Sir Francis 
 JValsingham, Knight, principal 
 Secretary to her Majesty: and of 
 her honourable Privy Council, 
 
 T'hat'Mantuan Poet's incompared spirit, 
 
 Whose girland now is set in highest plaee, 
 Had not Mecenas, for his worthy merit, 
 It first advanced to great Augustus 1 grace, 
 Might long perhaps hare lien in silence base, 
 Ne been so much admired of later age. 
 This lowly Musi^, that learns like steps to trace. 
 Flies for like aid unto your patronage, 
 That are the great Mecenas of this age, 
 As well to all that civil arts profess, 
 As those, that are inspired with martial rage$ 
 And eraves protection of her feebleness: 
 "Which if ye yield, perhaps ye may her raise 
 In bigger tones to sound your living praise. 
 
 Edmcs£> S»e>se.r, 
 
m 
 
 It was on the fifth day after Ralph's 
 arrival at Gobham , that , ou leaving 
 his chamber in the morning, he per- 
 ceived all the servants of the mansion 
 in a bustle. More than ordinary pre- 
 parations were making for the entertain- 
 ment of the day. He found that the 
 Lord Admiral , Charles Howard, Earl 
 of Nottingham, was expected to dinner. 
 Ralph was well acquainted with the 
 character of this old man, whose pride 
 and vanity were excessive; and who 
 delighted in pomp. Cobham was wil- 
 ling to Heat him in his own way; and 
 light and foolish as he was himself, 
 to plav with the other's foibles. 
 
 His arrival was attended by his ac- 
 customed pageantry: and he loaded 
 the company, according to their rank, 
 with a profusion of compliments. To 
 
the Earl of Norhumbertand, above all, 
 he was entire devotion The mode , 
 in whirh he addressed Raleigh was 
 sufficiently ridiculous to bye-standers 
 of arute observation . He considered 
 Raleigh as a new man and an upstart; 
 — but in spite of the unbounded in- 
 solence of a puny mind, inebriated with 
 prosperity and honours, vet always en- 
 deavouring to d : squise it under the 
 thin veil of a fulsome civility , he 
 trembled, end sunk before the daring 
 eye , and undaunted courage of Ra- 
 leigh . 
 
 His person had been very handsome; 
 his heroirm had been displayed in the 
 defeat of the Spanish Armada. These 
 are the topics on which Spenser ju- 
 diciously seized, as the foundation of 
 his panegyric . 
 
m 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable, the Lord 
 Ch. Howard. High Admiral of Eng- 
 land , Knight of the noble order of 
 Gartei\ and one of her Majesty's 
 Vrivy Council, etc. 
 
 And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly personage, 
 And uoble deeds, each other garnishing , 
 Make yon en sample to the present age 
 Of th 1 old heroes, whose famous offspring 
 
 The antique poets wont so mueh to sing, 
 In this same pageant have a worthy place; 
 Sith those same Castles (a) of Castilian King, 
 That vainly threatened Kingdoms to displace, 
 
 Like flying doves, ye did before you chase : 
 And that proud People, woxen insolent 
 TIi rough many victories, did first deface; 
 Thy praise's everlasting monument 
 
 \s in this verse engraven semblably; 
 TUat it may live to all posterity . 
 
 En sic xiv Spkkser. 
 (a) The Spanish: Armada. m 
 
6i 
 Raleigh had been more than once 
 under his command ; but considered 
 him, as a mere feather, put for shew 
 at the head of the expeditions. 
 
 The Lord Admiral quitted Cobham 
 the next morning: and Pvalph was now 
 left to R-iIeigh's maneuvres . 
 
 Raleigh had a strong desire to make 
 use of Ralph for a double purpose . 
 He thought he could sift out of him 
 some of the secrets both of the Houses 
 of Burleigh , and Essex . He mistook 
 the nature as well of Ralph's understand- 
 ing, as of his disposition. He affected 
 to take Ralph into his confidence; and 
 to display to him some of the treasures 
 of his mind . 
 
 He found in this youthful pupil ara 
 extent of profound observation, at which 
 he was astonished » Never off his guard, 
 
62 
 
 yet sometimes breaking into bursts of 
 copious eloquence , he was equal to 
 the Master that would probe him ; 
 because be had tasked his abilities to 
 meet the occasion, of which he fully 
 perceived the danger. 
 
 The effect upon Raleigh's opinions 
 was the reverse of what he had expect- 
 ed . He could discover nothing from 
 the Penetralia of the Statesmen, Avhose 
 secrets he desired to know, but what 
 was wise, honourable, and generous . 
 
 On the other hand, Ralph felt his 
 Yeneration for Raleigh a little diminish- 
 ed . He said to himself « there is so- 
 rnttimes a Guesse in what this threat 
 man says, that clouds its force , and 
 renders its wisdom doubtful . Truth , 
 and v7;,4*e, and simplicity , are the 
 only sources of genuine eloquence; 
 
63 
 
 sncT can alone bring wilh them any 
 lasting persuasion, or conviction . Th« 
 brilliance of distorted ingenuity soon 
 ceases to please : and in a little time dis- 
 gusts . Raleigh has too exclusive a con- 
 fidence iu himself: he would monopol' ze 
 all favour; and is too apt to thirik 
 no other man capable of properly go- 
 verning the State. I do not love Bur 
 leigh : I never could love him: I have 
 now, alas , too much reason to hate 
 him ! — But 1 am not insensible to hi* 
 numerous statesman-like qualities . To 
 Essex Raleigh is still less excusable in 
 his bitterness: nor does he duly esti- 
 mate the talents, or the heart of this 
 amiable , but imprudent nobleman. ^ 
 
 Raleigh communicated to Ralph 
 some political secrets, real or pi -nded, 
 to which Ralph's understanding and 
 
6| 
 
 iutelligence were little inclined to give 
 full credit. The most surprising thing 
 to him was Raleigh's pretension to the 
 confidence of Sir Robert Cecil, Burleigh's 
 favourite son . He did not dare tell 
 Raleigh that he Was a dupe ; nor could 
 he altogether bring himself to think 
 that he was in fact so. But if Raleigh 
 was sincere and accurate in his relations, 
 he could not be otherwise . Sometimes 
 the most cunning men overreach them- 
 selves; and are the victims of those, 
 whom they would deceive. 
 
 At this time there were numerou, 
 busy and conflicting intrigues going on 
 with the Scotch Monarch. Raleigh thought 
 that he had played his part so well s 
 as to be secure of the King's favour, 
 when he should ascend the Brit is h 
 throne ■ Ralph smiled, from a koowlege 
 
65 
 that the same confidence was entertained 
 by the opposite parties of Burleigh , 
 and of Essex . 
 
 It was one of Raleigh's purposes to 
 persuade Ralph to undertake a secret 
 commission to the Scotch Court . This 
 proposal was received by him with cold- 
 ness and dislike . He had been too much 
 behind the curtain; and he knew too well 
 the difficulty of such a task . He had had 
 peculiar opportunities of becoming ac- 
 quainted with the character of King 
 James. He had discovered that this Prince 
 was fickle, pusillanimous, deceitful; and 
 that from a pedantic turn of intellect he 
 was ignorant how to deal with man- 
 kind; and was always likely to sacrifice 
 those, who had any transactions with, 
 him . 
 
 He expressed these opinions cautiously 
 
66 
 to Raleigh, who smiled with a sort 
 of gentle and suppressed contempt at 
 his suspicions ; as if sure of his own 
 arrangements; and exultiug in his pro- 
 spective wisdom . « Such « said Ralph 
 to himself « is human blindness in the 
 most highly (lifted ! » 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil , who knew all 
 that was going forward wherever active 
 spirits were met together, had intellig- 
 ence of Ralph's arrival at Cobham , 
 before he had been ihere twenty four 
 hours. He was not well pleased at this 
 rencontre with Raleigh, and had a spy 
 in Cobham's house, who conveyed to 
 him, with a great deal of misconstruc- 
 tion, several of the conversations, which 
 had passed between these two . 
 
 Cecil had kept up some outward 
 appearance of friendship wtth Ralph, 
 
6> 
 
 notwithstanding the rupture with his 
 father . He was well assured of Ralph's 
 rectitude of principles: but he could 
 not believe him a match for the search- 
 ing capacity , and long and varied 
 experience of Raleigh . He felt that 
 Ralph could communicate many things, 
 of which the discovery to Raleigh might 
 be ruin to himself. 
 
 Ralph's mind was now in a tumult 
 from the variety of now observations, 
 that had forced themselves upon him. 
 Active life seemed to be a chaos of 
 conflicting elements. He felt a desire 
 for a short solitude , that he might 
 have an opportunity of digesting his 
 remarks. He quitted Cobham; and re- 
 tired to a cottage in Whichwood Fo- 
 rest f with which he had become 
 
6$ 
 acquainted in one of his excursions with 
 Lord Essex . 
 
 The Grst escape from the disgust , 
 or restraint of artificial society, into 
 free air, and silence, aud the beautiful 
 scenes of Nature , is exultation , and 
 unmingled delight . Then come regret 
 at time lost ; anger at ambitious desires, 
 at once unvirtuous and painful ; and 
 tows never again to wander beyond 
 the paths of obscure content . The 
 mists began to disperse from the ob- 
 jects of the mind, which had obtruded 
 themselves with such clouded force 
 upon his imagination . "Grandeur, « said 
 he, « is not the path of virtue . Success 
 and a pure conscience are incompatible. 
 It is intrigue, and plot that succeeds : 
 and he, who unites the most audacity 
 
6g 
 
 with the deepest design wins the game, 
 From Burleigh to Essex; from Essex to 
 Raleigh, it is all a bed ol thorns. B.estless 
 and incessant caution ; indignant resent- 
 ment; scornful pretensions; and over- 
 weeniag confidence ! 
 
 « It seems to me madness in him , 
 who can command a competence, to 
 embark on these troubled oceans. It 
 is for our posterity alone, that we feel 
 the stimulus of emerging from obscu- 
 rity. If I could resolve to lead a single 
 life , I should have no hesitation to 
 restrain myself for the remainder of 
 my days to a literary solitude. I could 
 create a Paradise for myself; and the 
 wealth of the mind should outshine that 
 of courts and palaces . But, oh, the con- 
 tradiction of human wishes ! The soft 
 eyes of this cottage-girl^ the daughter of 
 
7° 
 my host, tell me , that singleness is not 
 
 the life for me ! -< Fair Rosalinde; why 
 
 lookest thou so archly and so sweetly 
 
 upon one, who would close his eye* 
 
 and his heart against tender impressions! 
 
 Thy cunning sees that I admire that 
 
 blooming facej and those young hopes, 
 
 which hive yet received no chill ! — » 
 
 He spent a fornight in rambling about 
 the wildest p-.ths of the forest . He form- 
 ed a thousand romantic schemes of a life 
 to be dedicated to stu ly , and com- 
 position . He endevoured to forget the 
 rank of his ancestors; and the habits of 
 activity and peril, in which they had 
 passed their days . 
 
 At this time Sir Henry Wotton wrote 
 to him a letter from Essex-House, ex- 
 pressed in dark and enigmatical terms, 
 hinting at the dangerous course of con- 
 
7 l 
 duet, which the Earl was pursuing : and 
 
 intimating the rashness, with which lie 
 involved his partisans in the chance of 
 ruin. Ralph lamented, but was not sur- 
 prised at this intelligence, fie congratu- 
 lated himself on his distance from this 
 scene of action ; and on the compaiative 
 quiet and safety he was now enjoying . 
 
 A long walk occupied by a profound 
 and painful meditation on the impru- 
 dences and probable fate of Essex, 
 whom with ai! his errors and excesses he 
 loved and admired, had so overcome 
 him , that when he returned to his 
 humble apartment in the cottage, he (ell 
 asleep. The vision of Essex apppared to 
 him . He looked pale as death : his neck 
 was open; and stained with blood : he 
 shook his disheveled locks; and casting 
 on him a reproachful glance , cried : 
 
J1 
 « Ralph Willoughby! why desert me in 
 my troubles ? It becomes not a generous 
 mind to fly from the field of danger ! 
 Skulk not in the woods, when the plain 
 of battle is open to thy heroic spirit ! » 
 A blast shrieked across the forest ', the 
 vision fledj and Ralph awoke ! — 
 
 He opened his eyes : a lovely figure 
 stood by his side : a gentle voice enquir- 
 ed, if he was ill. — It was Rosalinde . 
 « Why ill, Rosalinde 1 » asked he . « O 
 Sir ! » she answered ,* « you sighed , and 
 muttered so loud, that we heard it in 
 the next apartment ! and when I entered 
 the room, you shook so , and the dew- 
 drops sat so full upon your forehead, 
 that you seemed to be in the height of 
 a fever! » « It was only a dream, Rosa- 
 linde, that disturbed me! » replied Ralph. 
 — « But need we not regard dreams , 
 
n?> 
 
 7' 
 Sir? w exclaimed Rosalinde. « They are 
 
 the mere gambols of the Faucy , Rosa- 
 linde! « he cried : <c but sonietimes they 
 are grave, and dreadful gambols! » — 
 « They are only gambols then? « she 
 said : Oh, how I rejoice , that they are 
 only gambols : for I sometimes dream, 
 such melancholy things? « — -« Why, 
 what dr^am you, Rosalinde? » — « Oh, 
 I dreamed last night, that some great 
 Lord had persuaded you to go with hira 
 upon a hazardous adventure; and that 
 you was taken prisoner ; thrown into a 
 dungeon; condemned to death; and lost 
 your head upon a block ! » — « And 
 would you have grieved for that, Rosa- 
 linde? » — She blushed ; and dropped 
 a tear. Ralph kissed it from her cheek. 
 Ralph was not superstitious; but this 
 dream made a strong impression upon 
 
74 
 
 him . He was not satisfied, that it was 
 generous or honourable to keep entirely 
 aloof, if there was any chance that- his 
 advice, or other aid, could be of the least 
 use to Essex . But Wot ion's Letter left 
 him under great difficulty how to solve 
 many of its hints . 
 
 SirHeury Wottonwasa man of very acute 
 abilities ; erudition : considerable genius; 
 and many excellent moral qualities. The 
 late admirably-informed Thomas War- 
 ton has pronounced himcca mixed charac- 
 ter . It seems as if he wanted firmness, 
 mng- nanirnity, and directness ofconduct. 
 This sometimes involved him in the 
 appearance, and perhaps the reality , of 
 finesse, and duplicity. There is in many 
 of his writings something of a turn allied 
 lo this : a cloudiness , and pedantry of 
 thought, and phrase, of which the shackles 
 
7* 
 
 are intolerable to a bold genius. Quaint- 
 ness of language to a mind of native force 
 is as ill suited and injurious as an enamel 
 of paint put to cover the bloom of nature. 
 But in the contemplations of the clo- 
 set Wotton had a pure and exalted mind, 
 Old Isaac Walton has written his life 
 with such admirable naivete , and in 
 colours so very interesting* that few cha 
 racters are remembered with more fond- 
 ness than that of this celebrated States- 
 man . The Wottons were an ancient^ 
 and considerable Kentish family, whose 
 mansion was at Boughton-Malherb a few 
 miles from Maidstone . Sir Henry died, 
 an old man, in the reign of Charles I. 
 Provost of Eton College, where he had 
 been educated. Walton has recorded a 
 most eloquent passage expressive of his 
 feelings on revisiting this scene of the 
 
7 6 
 sports of bis boyhood: and which in a 
 roost striking manner anticipates the 
 strain and course of thought of Gray's 
 beautiful « Ode on the Prospect of Eton 
 College . » 1 do not mean that Gray 
 borrowed from it: it was the coincidence 
 of truth and nature. Sir Henry wrote 
 elegant poetry, full of of touching sen- 
 timent; and marked by terse and grac< ful 
 expression . His lines on his favourite 
 patroness, the unfortunate Queen of Bohe- 
 mia, daughter of K James I beginning: 
 
 Ye meaner Beauties of the JV/'ght, 
 bave lost nothing of their exquisite and 
 tender polish by the lapse of time. 
 
 Ralph knew Wotton's character well : 
 be bad penetrated into his foibles; be 
 lamented his defects; he admired his 
 endowments, and virtues . He was sure 
 tbat the intelligence conveyed to him 
 
77 
 imported some great evil? lie could not 
 
 unravel exactly what. 
 
 Again be resolved to bury himself in 
 the safe obscurity , which he had now 
 found. He had not been an origi- 
 nal partisan of Essex : he was bounb 
 to him by no long, or deep ties: he was 
 not an approver of his politics: he hated 
 all intrigue, and plot; and active and fe- 
 verish ambition : he did not like the great- 
 er part of Essex's advisers : he could not 
 rely upon them : he felt assured, that if he 
 interfered, he himself, whenever danger 
 occurred, would be the first sacrifice . 
 
 He rambled into the Forest , and sat 
 for hours beside the woodmen at their 
 work. In these solitudes almost every 
 distant sound is music. The crashing fall 
 of the heavy tree, when it yeilds to the 
 last stroke of the axej the echo of each 
 
7 5 
 blow of the axe itself; the occasional 
 -voices of rhe workmen ; now a««d then 
 the loud burst of a song 5 sometimes the 
 tongue of an hound ; the reverberating 
 hallow of a Keeper; or a few shrill notes 
 of his horn , rouse the seuses ; and set 
 the imagination into play . 
 
 When we consider what life is : when 
 we seek, (as all seek.) next to duty, what 
 is the most pleasant, we must pronounce 
 pleasures of this kind, as they are the 
 most innocent, to be amom: the most 
 arute , of which our Being is capable . 
 Why then should we go farther to 
 search for others, that, while they are 
 far less exquisite, are bought at the price 
 of innumerable perils, and contingent 
 ruin? There is nothing in courts, in 
 rank , in high office , that when the 
 novelty is gone, can coufer much En- 
 
79 
 
 iovmpnt! - Health is the first of blessings: 
 
 7 3 O 
 
 and where is it to be found but in easy 
 occupation in the open and uncoutami- 
 natcd air ? 
 
 The p?iges of history prove the misery 
 of lofty station . Look at the tales of 
 sovereigns, and princes. How few have 
 descended to the grave in peace! \V hat 
 numbers have come to prematu r e and 
 violent deaths , after long torments of 
 body and mind ! 
 
 <c Why then, » said Ralph, cc should I 
 abandon these haunts of silence and 
 quiet? Why should I embark with open 
 eves on a tempestuous ocean , to which 
 no duty calls me? Forgetting and forgot- 
 ten, let me find a rural path to the tomb! 
 let me forget my name; and the busy 
 characters of my ancestors! let Poetry 
 be my- mistress ; and let innocent labour 
 
8o 
 in fields and forests deepen my slum- 
 bers ! 
 
 He had scarcely whispered to himself 
 these sentiments, when there issued from 
 the narrow path of an adjoining thicket 
 a figure very unlike the costume of the 
 inhabitants of these sylvan domains. He 
 looked; and recognized the person of the 
 young Lord Grey of Wilton, 
 
 «What brings you hither, Lord Grey/*^ 
 cried Ralph. t C Business with you ! » 
 answered he with a smile: « I have been 
 traversing the whole country in search 
 of you ; and have found you by the 
 merest accident/ » Ralph felt his heart 
 sink, while his curiosity was enflamed. 
 
 Lord Grey went on : <( I am sent by 
 Raleigh on some confidential matters . 
 He says that it is an affair of delicacy; 
 and that no one has talents for it, but 
 
8i 
 u . He speaks in the highest terras of 
 ur extraordinary abilities ; and says 
 at it may open to yo\i the road to 
 nours, and promotion, which you de- 
 
 ve : » 
 
 ? » — 
 
 The young Load Grey had succeeded 
 is father, the celebrated Arthur, Lord 
 irey of Wilton , who had been Lord 
 lieutenant of Ireland. In that station 
 ialeigh, when a young man with only 
 .he command of a company^ had had a 
 [uarrel with him, in which he had made 
 .is own part so good , that it had first 
 wrought him into the Queen's notice. 
 
 Raleigh had cast away the early ani- 
 mosity created by this circumstance; and 
 had insinuated himself into the favour 
 of this heir to the honours of his old 
 Opponent, He found the juvenile Peer 
 useful to some of the schemes he was 
 
82 
 
 carrying on ; as he was ill-inclined to the 
 Court, being tinged with the sour prin- 
 ciples of the Puritan Faction. 
 
 Ralph lamented the austere and for- 
 bidding turn, which this heir to illustrious 
 honours, \euerable by so many centuries 
 of rank and heroism, had taken : He had 
 often reasoned with him; and endeavour- 
 ed to infuse into him his fathers's better 
 taste; his generous love of poetry; and 
 his loyal heroism . He spoke to him of 
 the deathless fame , which the Muse had 
 given to this honoured Parent; and repeat- 
 ed to him Spenser's Eulogy . 
 
83 
 SONNET 
 
 To the most renowned and valiant 
 Lord, the Lord Grey of Wilton, 
 Knight of the noble Order of the 
 Garter, etc. 
 
 Most nohle Lord, the pillar of my life, 
 And patron of my Muse's pupillage, 
 Through whose large bountv,poured on me rife, 
 In the first season of my feeble age, 
 
 I now do live, bound yours bv vassalage: 
 Since nothing ever may-redeem, nor reeye 
 Out of your endless debt so sure a gage,- 
 Vouchsafe in worth this small gift to receive, 
 
 Which in vour noble hands for pledge I leave 
 Of all the rest, that I am tied t account; 
 Rude rhymes, the which a rusticMuse did weave 
 In savage soil, far from Parnasso Mount; 
 
 And roughly wrought in an unlearned loom:(doom 
 
 The which vouchsafe, dearLord, your favourable 
 
 Edmund Spenser 
 
u 
 
 When Lord Grey came to communi- 
 cate the message from Raleigh, he found 
 himself so embarrassed, that, as Ralph 
 was not in a disposition to give him 
 much encouragement, he could scarcely 
 make himself intelligible . It was clear, 
 that, had Ralph been inclined to take 
 hints, he would have had much more to 
 say . The purport was a private and con- 
 fidential conference with Sir Robert Ce- 
 cil, upon hints from Raleigh : of which 
 Lord Grey had memoranda in his pocket. 
 From the very opening of this message 
 Ralph felt such a distnste to it, that the 
 messenger could not bring himself to 
 disclose more than a very small part of it . 
 Ralph pencived that it had reference to 
 what was going on at Essex-House; and 
 would hear no more. 
 
 Lord Grey became furiously angry: 
 
35 
 
 he reproached Ralph with obstinacy ; 
 self sufficiency; and wilful blindness to 
 his own fortune. « My Lord?" said 
 Ralph.-ccyou arein possession of an ancient 
 peerage: — I am not: but I know not 
 that my family is much inferior to your 
 own ! — they have been less fortunate ! 
 but will you yourself venture to rely on 
 prosperity as the test of merit? — I am 
 to be won by kindness ; but I am not 
 to be driven! If nature has given me 
 the talent to judge for myself, there is 
 nothing in rav apparently-desperate con- 
 dition, that should take it away ! I thank 
 you for wishing to promote my interest: 
 lintreat that you will leave to me my own 
 manner of doing it !-And now,Lord Grey, 
 I must bring myself, even with you by 
 a reciprocity of advice ! — A little more 
 of the softness of what are called the 
 
86 
 lighter ornaments of the mind, would be 
 of service to you. — You have too 
 much of a hard, resentful ambition. 
 Beware, that you are not the victim of 
 your own projects! Providence lias given 
 a vast diversity to the human character. 
 AH have not the same duties: nor must 
 we judge severely of others, because 
 they are not like ourselves. If a man of 
 genius flatters you with an exclusive 
 commendation of your own cast of dis- 
 position, or intellect, suspect him ! he is 
 not sincere; he is bending you , as an 
 instrument, to his own designs! Do not 
 play the game of the common enemy ! 
 Faction against Faction ; Ancient House 
 against Ancient House, is very had po- 
 licy! » — 
 
 « Willoughby ! » exclaimed Lord 
 Grey in surprise: « Willoughby! what 
 
87 
 
 can all this mean? Can I trust my own 
 
 ears? Are these your sentiments? Is this 
 your principle of action? Has not the 
 solitude of this Forest worked wonder- 
 ful changes? Ralph Willoaghby — the 
 confidential secretary of Burleigh ; the 
 friend of Essex; the companion of Ra- 
 leigh ! Does Ralph hate ambition ? does 
 Ralph shun the strife of parties? does 
 Ralph fly from Faction? Miraculous 
 conversion! all powerful influence of the 
 charms of woods, and cottages . » — ■ 
 
 «\ou are only confirming the accuracy 
 of my advice, Lord Grey, » said Ralph 5 
 a by this reply ! \ou take too narrow a 
 view of things . Misled by your own de- 
 sires, you have supposed me to have 
 been actuated by the same feelings. I 
 always hated Faction and Intrigue: I 
 always hated the sort of ambition, by 
 
88 
 -which you suppose^rae to have been sti- 
 mulated ! I have heard the stories of op- 
 posite Parties; but I would die rather 
 than betray one to anolher,even in return 
 for the most cruel and ungrateful treat- 
 ment ! Let your friend; ( I hope my 
 friend, ) Raleigh, tell what he has learn- 
 ed from me! My heart is open ; my pru- 
 dence and caution are not great: but my 
 sense of honour is a substitute for these 
 guards! 
 
 u Raleigh then misunderstands your 
 character! » exclaimed Lord Grey drily. 
 « I am sorry that my character is not 
 more visible to an acute observer! « re- 
 plied he. I hate disguise -, and would 
 have every one see me, as I am ! « -« It 
 is clear, that Raleigh thinks you a politi- 
 cian! » said Lord G. — « An intriguer; 
 you mean! » cried Ralph : » but should 
 
»9 
 
 you not rather say , that he wishes to 
 
 make me one? « — 
 
 « I admit, *> said the other , "that he 
 has an high confidence in his own power: 
 and shall Ralph YVilloughby be bold 
 enough to set him at defiance ? " 
 Forbear this taunt. Lord Grey ! » replied 
 Ralph: « I have neither defied, nor un- 
 undervalued Sir Walter Raleigh . But 
 you would make a despot of him . It is 
 not arrogance, to retain one's independ- 
 ence of mind . The career of ambition , 
 that suits his daring genius, may not 
 suit my humbler temper. There are 
 BGeu, who delight to 
 
 „Ride in the whirlwind,- anddirect the blast:,, 
 
 but this is not congenial to my feebler 
 spirit . cc -- 
 
 cc Though Raleigh has an high opinion 
 of your abititiesj» proceeded Lord G. 
 
9° 
 
 « he has not overlooked some defects, 
 
 which he thinks may mar your career . 
 He says , that you consider poetry too 
 much of a business, rather than a mere 
 ornament: he asserts, that this Enchanter 
 ought to be taken as a misiress only; not 
 as a wife : she may be dallied with ; but 
 not your constant companion . « 
 
 cc I certainly cannot subscribe to these 
 sentiments: 11 said Ralph eagerly. It is 
 from this very principle, that I bcleive 
 R aleigh has failed in his poetical character. 
 Truth is as much the essence of genuine 
 Poetry, as it is of genuine Philosophy. 
 ]f it be not the expression of real feelings; 
 or of images really presented to the 
 mind , it may please for a time by no- 
 velty and marvel: but it will soon be 
 forgotten. This is incontestably proved 
 by an examination of the distinctive 
 
9* 
 
 merit of those ancient classical poets, 
 
 whose fame has lasted longest . Art 
 should be subordinate to the exhibition 
 of Nature; not paramount to it. The 
 imagination creates innumerable things, 
 which exist not materially: but when 
 it creates voluntarily , it always creates 
 according to some uniform principle, by 
 which a sympathy is found in the bosom 
 of every reader. The monsters of the 
 fancy, its forced and exravagant combi- 
 nations, are odious to good taste. >? -- 
 
 « Am I then to understand you « con- 
 tinued Lord G. with a sneer, « that you 
 abandon all for this Syren Poetry ? -- or 
 perhaps for the little hlue-eyed girl of 
 the cottage, that for the moment takes 
 her place ! « 
 
 « Leave me to myself, Lord Grev . w 
 
9 2 
 cried Ralph angrily. « 1 have never in- 
 terfered with you . » 
 
 « What am I to tell Raleigh then? « 
 
 « That 1 thank him for his good opi- 
 nion: -- but that I am unequal to the 
 task he proposes for me . » « 
 
 « I submit, » said Lord Grey: *' but 
 remember , that Raleigh would be a 
 dangerous enemy. 
 
 « Do not use threats, let us part in 
 good humour ! threats, of all things, 
 are most abhorrent to my patience! Be 
 candid Lord Grey ! Open your mind to 
 a greater variety of views of human af- 
 fairs! cultivate the poetry you despise : 
 it will make your blood flow in kindlier 
 currents: it will give you a resting place 
 in dis ippointment: it will set you ab ove 
 the things you cannot command; not in 
 a degrading struggle with them! » — 
 
Lord Grey turned his eyes earnestly 
 on Ralph : a strange novelty of senti- 
 ment glowed through his whole frame: 
 he began to suspect that he had been 
 groveling in a wrong path ; and that 
 there was a communicable fire in Ralph, 
 of which he hadhad no conception. Ralph 
 saw that he had made an impression . 
 
 « 1 ord Grey! ;, exclaimed he; U I 
 
 caunot forget the illustrious blood , from 
 
 whence you are sprung ! That genorous 
 
 stream may be chilled , or frozen for a 
 
 moment ! -- Misfortunes may arrest it: 
 
 clcuds may envelop it : but its warmth 
 
 will return ; its noble fUjne w r ill never 
 
 die! Thou canst not forget, that Spenser 
 
 dandled thee on his knee! Thou canst 
 
 not forget, with what enthusiasm thy 
 
 heroic father listened to his strains! He 
 
 knew well the charm , and the force of 
 
94 
 
 verse : he felt assured of its alliance to 
 
 all the nobler impulses , that animate 
 human actions; and esteemed rank base, 
 and honours to be mockery, if unacom- 
 pained by an ardent, melting heart , and 
 refined and highly-instructed intellect ! 
 Though riches were not showered upon 
 him, the absence of this advantage did 
 not make him discontented; but full of 
 noble adventure! „ 
 
 Lord Grey sighed and turned pale: a 
 sensation of self-abasement was mingled 
 with his pleasure at this glowing eulogy 
 of his Father : to whom he looked up 
 not merely with vanity, but with vene- 
 ration . But it had certainly not hitherto 
 produced the effects upon him , which 
 Ralph wished to instil. 
 
 " Well then Willoughby. „ he con- 
 tinued: "may you be happy iu the 
 
93 
 
 path of your own choice ! And I will 
 endeavour to take lessons from you : for 
 I see that I cannot contend with you ! I 
 will deliver your message to B.aleigh j 
 and use my efforts to persuade him, 
 that you yourself are the hest judge of 
 what you can undertake with success! ,. 
 They took leave . Ralph was now 
 again left to his own contemplations. He 
 exulted at the decisive and indignant 
 manner , in which he had rejected the 
 odious proposition . To be the bearer of 
 anv intelligence, by which he might be 
 the instrument of injuring Essex with 
 the persons in power, was the last act ot 
 baseness , oi which he would have beea 
 guilty. To him the course of intrigue 
 adopted by the Faction ofCobham Hall 
 was quite inexplicable, w hen he consider- 
 ed the priaciples of action, by which he 
 
9<f 
 privately knew Sir Robert Cecil to be 
 
 guided . 
 
 He had now leisure for musings even 
 beyond the endurance of a mind mor- 
 bidly endued with moral plaintiveness . 
 He recollected that, in consequence of 
 the fallen fortunes of bis family, he had 
 not even a competence to subsist upon. 
 He farther considered, that he was in dan- 
 gerous society. Left to contemplate 
 without interruption the beauty of the 
 simple Rosalindc he could not trust his 
 warm heart to avoid an alliance, that 
 would aggravate his difficulties tenfold. 
 He thought, till he was sick and 
 despondent: every thing was dark around 
 him : he saw not a vista of hope, but in 
 the fields of fancy . At length it occurred 
 to him, that his enterprising spirit might 
 find some scope in those expeditious 
 
 
97 
 of Naval discovery , that were now so 
 
 fashionable . 
 
 About two years past, lie had formed 
 an intimacy with the chivalrous George 
 Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, who being 
 one of the proudest flowers of the old 
 nobiI : ty,h.id forsaken Courts of which he 
 was the ornament, and ancient castles, 
 and spreading territories, where he pre- 
 sided in the most gratifying feudal 
 pomp, and had left all the enjoyments of 
 domestic ease, for the perils of the ocean, 
 and the conflicts of barbarous tribes, in 
 search of New Worlds . 
 
 He was a man of an high enthusiasm; 
 and an accomplished genius. He excelled 
 in all manly exercises: he carried away the 
 palm in tournaments: his gallantry made 
 him a general favorite among the ladies of 
 
9 8 
 the Court : and he wrote amatory verses 
 with elegance, aud pathos. 
 
 The following is Spenser's testimony . 
 It seems to have been written in the 
 commencement of this Earl's career. 
 
99 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable , the Earl 
 oj Cumberland . 
 
 Redoubted Lord, in whose courageous mind 
 The flower of Chivalry, now blooming fair, 
 Doth promise fruit, worthy the noble Kind, 
 Which of their praises have left you the heir,* 
 
 To you this humble present I prepare, 
 For love of virtue, and of martial praise, 
 To which though nobly ye inclined are, 
 As goodly well ve shewM in late assays. 
 
 Yet brave ensample of long passed days, 
 In which true honour ve may fashion'd see. 
 To like desire of honour may ye raise; 
 Aud fill your mind with magnanimity. 
 
 Receive it, Lord, therefore, as it was meant, 
 
 For honour of your name, and high descent. 
 
 E^dmuxd Spehser 
 
100 
 
 Ralph now sought out this Earl, 
 who was already preparing for another 
 naval expedition. The accomplish- 
 ed Commander was delighted to have 
 such a companion as Ralph ; who went 
 with him to Plymouth, where his little 
 Fleet was assembled, laying in stores for 
 their voyage . 
 
 On their arrival at this station, they 
 found every thing in confusion: the ves- 
 sels half equipped; half victualled; half 
 mam ed; a mingled discontent running 
 through those, who were already em- 
 barked; the captains ill-furnished; and 
 ill-credited; and the aspect of the whole 
 discouraging . 
 
 Lord Cumberland was one of those 
 men, who easily yeild to the alternate 
 impressions of hope and gloom . He sunk 
 at the clouded prospect, which met him: 
 
101 
 
 but then he had an elasticity of mi rid, which 
 
 danger and discouragement by degrees sti- 
 mulated. He talked with .the bolder Jvp ; Hr,s ; 
 who had resolved to join his adventure;he 
 en flamed his imagination with the novel 
 incidents he expected to meet with ; 
 while the stale repetition of Court parade 
 appeared a scene, at which he revolted 
 to return . 
 
 But though he had a large feudal ter- 
 ritory, his means in ready money were 
 very scanty. After a fortnight's vexa- 
 tious delay, he found the difficulty of 
 procuring all necessaries augment rather 
 than diminish . 
 
 Meantime it was resolved that a cho- 
 sen set should go forward in the best 
 vessel. Ralph Willoughby intreated to 
 be allowed to accompany this first ad ven- 
 ture. He was tiredof England: every path 
 
10^ 
 
 seemed shut to him 5 and nothing ap- 
 peared lo remain there, but mortification, 
 povtf.'ty 7 ami dereliction . 
 
 A fair wind arose : the destined Ship 
 expanded her broad wings; and moved 
 majestically forward upon the bosom of 
 *he swelling ocean . Kalph sat on the 
 prow; and looked back on the lessening 
 shore without a sigh . 
 
 White shores, now dimly seen,now shining bright 
 Beneath the glitter of the radiant Sun, 
 Lessen; ah Ie&sen ! not a sigh from me 
 Shall honoui your ungracious, heartless smiles! 
 Cold as the Moon, when her pale dewy beams 
 'J ''brow on the shrubs and flowers their misty light, 
 Is the lair splendor of your guileful rays! 
 Ye cherish him, who necdeth not your ;iid : 
 15 ut when misfortune comes, or clones arise, 
 I'lien, where your smiles are wanted, now ye frown! 
 YVeabh is vour ido] . Ye pretend to laud 
 Birth, Genius, yirtue: - then array'd in gold, 
 Tis irue ye worship them: but. (i.-, the dress 
 
io3 
 
 Calls forth your reverence : if meanly clad, 
 Birth, Genius,Yirtue,bright as heaven, may starve! 
 Where art thou, Spenser? Thy diviner tongue 
 Sleeps sileut in the grave: thy sounding lyre 
 Kept not the gripe of Poverty from thee ! 
 For all the glory that thy copious song 
 Pour'd ontheGreat, what did theypouron thee ? 
 A scantv sterile praise : a side-long glance, 
 That own"d with envious doubtful looks the worth 
 Of thy all-blazing Muse! and seem'd to say, 
 ''Song is but empty sound: and small the meed, 
 That emptv sounds can merit! „ It is thus,- 
 Isle of the Ocean, it is tbus thon deaPst 
 With Fancy's children! Future Centuries 
 Shall see thee still the same! and boys shall rise, 
 And Gil the woods and vallics with the stream 
 Of their overwhelming music : vet in grief 
 Their early sun shall setj and Scorn shall grin 
 Upon their inspiration ,• and Despair 
 Shall drive them to the poisonous bowl^and end 
 Pangs not- to-be-endured in self soughtdealb!(i) 
 
 (i) Alluding to Chutterton. 
 
it>4 
 
 O drop thy veil, Futurity! O close 
 Mine ears to those heart-rending yells ! Along 
 High-vaulted aisles, I hear the piercing cry 
 Of furious Madness ! Rack again the shrieks 
 Echo, and then redouble ! (2) Fated Lyre; 
 If this he thy reward, I throw thee off! 
 Snatch it, ye "Winds • Bury it deep ye Waves, 
 In your profoundest beds : and let its charms, 
 Accursed and accursing like a fiend, 
 Lull me no more to such ineffable ills . (pies 
 
 Blow fresh, thou Breeze: upon my heating tem- 
 Play; and hang close with thy refreshing wings 
 On my tumultuous breast. -Again the light 
 Sits on old Albion's shores . The genial beams, 
 Whom do they cherish?-Not an heart that beats 
 For my misfortunes! Not an eye, that looks 
 With fond regret on my departing form! 
 •'One lingering remnant of those ancient stocks 
 Of feudal nobles lied! tis well! lis gain 
 To us: we strip the branches ; tear the leaves; 
 And soon thelast writhed Stock,tho'decp its root, 
 
 {1} Alluding to the fate of Collins 
 
io5 
 
 Shall wither in the ground! „- Thus speak th« 
 crowd (cries 
 
 Of new sprung Great J Thusswelling Commerce 
 Deeming, where wealth is not all-p owerful, there 
 Worth is defrauded of its rights, and this 
 The lore, the halt'-faught Sase affects to teach ! 
 Gav dancing Bark, bear onward! The dim line 
 Of Albion's coast along the horizon marks, 
 Where all mv hopes were wreek'd!-0 far away 
 Bear me to scenes, in whose oblivions breast 
 Memory may burv her impatient woes ! 
 
 It fades : the last dim speck evaporates j 
 And mingles with the skv ! Farewell, o Landj- 
 Soil of my Fathers; mine, alas, no more! - 
 
 Thus mused Ralph Willouehby, as 
 the Ship gradually bore him out of the 
 sight of the English coast . 
 
 He felt for four days a revival of spi- 
 rits from the new situation, in which he 
 was placed, and the new objects, by 
 which he was surrounded, The fresh air of 
 the Oceau invigorated his languid frame. 
 
io6 
 
 On the fifth day the seamen were 
 observed to be particularly watchful of 
 the sky .The weatherwas very changeable: 
 sometimes sudden clouds, gathered into 
 mountains, hung with tremendous black 
 nrss over the sea; and then, as suddenly 
 dispersing, gave way to as clear, and 
 beautiful a brilliance. Again a gloom 
 would overspread the heavens; every 
 breeze seemed to sleep; all was still; an 
 aweful silence reigned; till at length a 
 Tiollow murmur swept along the sky, 
 and then ceased again. 
 
 Ralph spoke to the Captain . He shook 
 his head ; and intimated that a storm was 
 brooding . 
 
 The Sun set with a fiery red; and the 
 sailors beheld it wistfully , and with ter- 
 ror . Ralph retired to his hammock at 
 the usual hour; and fell into a profound 
 
107 
 
 sleep . Long before midnight,he was waiv- 
 ed by the rolling of the vessel The wind 
 roared frightfully among the shrouds; 
 and a great bustle was heard upon deck. 
 Then came a crash , as if the ship was 
 going to pieces. He scarce had time to 
 reflect where he was , when another 
 crash came. The Ship had been driven 
 among the rocks on the Cornish coast . 
 
 He had scarcely time to reach the 
 deck, when all was lost . Another crash -, 
 and the Vessel w- at down . All was 
 then confusion : Every one strove to 
 attempt the shore; which some distant 
 lights seemed to point out . Ralph , 
 whether in a boat, or on an oar, he 
 afterwards knew not, was, by some Pro- 
 vidence, thrown upon the coast. 
 
 His senses were gone; and he recollect- 
 ed nothing, till he found himself on the 
 
io8 
 bed of a gloomy chamber in a strange 
 house, so weak that he could not lift 
 himself from his position; and so full of 
 bruises , that he could scarcely take any 
 posture without agony . 
 
 He soon relapsed into sleep from mere 
 debility? and when he waked again, his 
 eyes opened upon two female attendants, 
 who softly expressed their anxiety for 
 his recovery . <c To whom am I obliged « 
 stfid he,« for this preservation, and hospi- 
 tality? » — The Lady smiled; (for they 
 "were evidently a lady, and her servant:) 
 « If you feel obliged, « she cried; « 1 am 
 content : my name, 1 fear, will add noth- 
 ing to the value of the service I have been 
 happy to perform in the cause of huma- 
 nity! It is to this good girl, that you 
 owe as much, as to me. Her faiher 
 found you apparently almost lifeless on 
 
I op 
 the shore; but perceiving a spark of ani- 
 mation still about you, brought you to 
 his cottage. Hir daughter sought my 
 assistance; and I had you conveyed 
 hither . » — 
 
 They soon observed, that Ralph's 
 strength was not sufficient to bear a 
 continuance of this narration. He grew 
 pale: his senses again fled; and he sunk 
 exhausted upon the pillow. A fortnight's 
 assiduous attention of these kind nurses 
 restored him to his senses, and to some 
 slight portion of a feeble convalescence. 
 He had learned that the la iy"s name 
 was Tretogel : and that she was the only 
 child of a little indigenous Cornish 
 Squire, who lived in his small half-ca- 
 stellated manorial house on this remote 
 and barbarous coast. Some pains had 
 beeu taken with her education; and she 
 
1 10 
 
 had assiduously cultivated a quick un- 
 derstanding, and warm fancy, according 
 to the fashion of those days. 
 
 She was handsome ; with dark eyes; 
 and a clear brown complexion; but some- 
 what too large in her person. By some 
 accident; probably by some papers found 
 inhispocket;she well knew Ralph's narno; 
 and was able to connect him with 
 his father's family; of which she had 
 heard something of the history. 
 
 Alone; nursing a romantic imagina- 
 tion in a desolate country, her bosom 
 nourished towards Willoughby all the 
 wild energies of a sudden and unmanag- 
 ed passion. Ralph felt gratitude; but he 
 could not feel love . 
 
 Maud Tretagel was one, whose affec- 
 tion was not to be sported with . She 
 was vain; proud; jealous; resentful, evea 
 
11 1 
 
 to madness. When Ralph hinted at the 
 necessity of his departure, she first flew 
 into tears* then grew grew gloomy; then 
 reproachful; and at last furious. 
 
 Her maid was a much more rational 
 Being. She made many apologies for her 
 mistress; she said, that she had been a 
 spoiled child; that her father was the 
 little despot of a wild neighbourhood; and 
 that he knew nocontroul to his will; and 
 had brought up his child to know no 
 controul to hers. She entreated Ralph 
 to bear with her humours ; and to soothe 
 her pride . 
 
 Such apologies had no tendency to 
 reconcile Ralph to her passion. He only 
 meditated his departure with more eag- 
 erness. When Maud Tretagel suspected 
 this, she used every artifice to delay 
 him . At length she expressed herself 
 
1 12 
 
 reconciled to it, on condition that he 
 would wait till a particular day. 
 
 Jn the mean timeshe fell into a moody 
 gloom, that almost overcame the sensi- 
 bility of Ralph. Her maid was continually 
 in tears : she started : she seemed to have 
 something to communicate ; yet not to 
 dare to trust her voice. On the morning 
 before that appointed for the day of his 
 departure, she came into his apartment 
 at a very early hour, pale, trembling, 
 and bathed in tears. She looked around 
 her fearfully; she bolted the door; she 
 came to his bedside; and whispered in 
 a faultering voice: « Mr. Willoughby ! 
 my conscience impels me at the risk of 
 my life to impart a secret to you! You 
 are not safe here ! Depart secretly to 
 night; or you are lost ! Take the hint! 
 betray me not ! Go: haste ! the shades of 
 
n3 
 
 this very night alone can save you ! * — 
 She stole out of the room; and left V$ il- 
 loughby to reflect, in horrid astonishment, 
 at the communication . 
 
 He resolved to obey the caution : for 
 he could not doubt , where the danger 
 lay. When the mantle of Evening came, 
 he stole out of the House: and wan- 
 dered, in the only road he could find, 
 as far as his enfteblcd strength would 
 carry him. At length he was so exhaust- 
 ed, that he resolved to throw himself on 
 the road-side; and yield to his fate. 
 Luckily the gleam of a distant light at 
 that moment met his eye . He crawled 
 towards it; and found it a small public- 
 house, where he gained admittance . 
 
 His sole desire was rest; if it brought 
 with it death, he was now indifferent to 
 
u4 
 
 it. He had luckily preserved two or 
 three small pieces of gold in the only 
 remnant of his dress, that had not been 
 torn from him . He recollected this be- 
 fore he closed his eyes ; and was consol- 
 ed, that he should be able to pay for his 
 entertainment. 
 
 He waked refreshed in the morning; 
 and resolved to proceed on his journey . 
 But some conversation, which he over- 
 heard, induced a suspicion that he would 
 be way- laid. The precaution of a change of 
 dress occurred to him jand passing a village, 
 he entered small shop, where he found no 
 difficulty in procuring a common sailor's 
 jacket. Pulling off the outward dress, with 
 which he had been furnished at the house 
 of the Tretagel>, wrapping it in an hand- 
 kerchief; and slinking it over his should- 
 
n5 
 
 er br a rough stick taken from the hed* 
 ges , he trudged along in the disguise of 
 one of the meanest class of society . 
 
 For a few miles he flattered himself, 
 that his strength had rapidly revived: 
 but at last he began to grow faint : he 
 sat down: a dimness came before his eyes $ 
 and his senses began to wander. He thou- 
 ght he saw the waves of the sea approa- 
 ching him in mountainous height ; and 
 heard the roaring of the billows; and 
 the groans of the sails and masts 
 
 He rose; and endeavoured to run; but 
 his legs failed him. A charitable peasant, 
 seeing his feebleness and sick looks, took 
 him in his cart; and delivered him to 
 the hostess of the next town. He was car- 
 ried , unconscious, to the hospital ,that 
 luckily existed there. The managers of 
 this establishment could gather nothing 
 
ii6 
 
 coherent from his conversation His mind 
 and his tongue rambled most wildly for 
 above a week. They suspected , that he 
 was of a condition superior to his out- 
 ward appearance : but there is an inge- 
 nuity in madness, that is very delusive: 
 and on this account they were not con- 
 fident of any inferences regarding him , 
 which they could draw. 
 
 He had lucid intervals: but the refle- 
 ction on his past misfortunes; and the 
 terrific prospect of the future, soon cau- 
 sed a relapse into a melancholy derange- 
 ment. He imagined that he had commit- 
 ted some great crime, which it was his 
 intense care to conceal from those that 
 surrounded him. But he thought that 
 every one shunned , or hated him ; and 
 he supposed that every neglect, every 
 
1*7 
 
 grave look , afforded evidence that he 
 
 had been discovered. 
 
 Under a load of fancied guilt, he see- 
 med impelled to struggle to recommend 
 himself; and to prove that he was de- 
 serving of a better fate. He perpetually 
 talked as if he was pleading at the bar of 
 justice; rebutted presumptions ; denied 
 inferences; appealed to mercy; came as 
 if stimulated by some iucontroulable de- 
 sire of confession , to rhe verge of some 
 supposed fact of criminality ; and then , 
 by a surprising turn , urged all these ad- 
 mitted steps as the proofs of his inno- 
 cence . 
 
 A day came , when the attendants ob- 
 served about him a gloom of an extraor- 
 dinary kind It was tender and exalted. 
 Sometimes the tears flowed freely: it was 
 then illuminated by a smile of heroic 
 
patience. He was impressed with the con- 
 viction , that he had been capitally con- 
 demned ; and that the following morning 
 he was to suffer on the block. 
 
 Rumours had spread abroad rand some 
 curiosity regarding him had already 
 been excited in the town. At this time 
 the insurrection of the Earl of Essex, and 
 his consequent imprisonment, were topics 
 of universal conversation, and interest 
 through the kingdom. A suspicion arose 
 in the place, that Willoughby was no 
 other , than Essex escaped in disguise , 
 whose troubles had turned his brain. 
 
 Their persons were not utterly unlike. 
 They had both a deep, animated ex 
 pression : but Ralph was handsomer; was 
 better grown ; had more regular featu- 
 res; and was made with more symmetry- 
 All the higher classes of the inhabitants 
 
**9 
 
 of the town flocked to see him ; parti- 
 
 culary the females. 
 
 Ihis confirmed Ralph in the concep- 
 tion that he was to suffer on the fol- 
 lowing day. Many attempts were made 
 to hold conversations with him , but he 
 was often moody and impenetrably si- 
 lent But Beauty had so much influence 
 over him even in this state that he never 
 failed to answer the young women bless- 
 ed with this gift , who addressed him. 
 Every word he uttered , confirmed them 
 in the idea that he was Lord Essex. They 
 listened to him -, they gazed upon him ; 
 they mingled their tears with his. 
 
 This extraordinary sympathy; the 
 earnest softness with which eyes were 
 fixed upon him ; operating upon a mind 
 already in a state of enthusiastic fervor, 
 gave R.alph a sort of mournful eloquent 
 
120 
 
 ce, that seemed like inspiration. Images 
 crowded upon him with a brilliance far 
 beyond what reality could produce. Un- 
 check'd by the diffidence accompanying 
 reason, he gave unlimited ran^e to his 
 thoughts and his language His words flo- 
 wed in tides of pathos or sublimity. His 
 principal bent seemed to be the desire to 
 be remembered in death; to have his gra- 
 ve covered with the flowers of love, and 
 to have it recorded that he died a victim 
 to ingratitude and injustice. 
 
 What could be more calculated to 
 confirm the suspicion that this person 
 was Lord Essex ? 
 
 A sudden thought of escape now en- 
 tered the moody mind of Willoughby. 
 He imagined himself a close prisoner: 
 and seeing a lady of an engaging counte- 
 nance, who appeared peculiarly intere- 
 
131 
 
 steel about him , he put a note secretly 
 into her hands beseeching her to assist 
 him at dawn of the next morning in 
 escaping from captivity and death . 
 
 The girl, who, in addition to the in- 
 terest she had already felt, was highly 
 flattered by this confidence, and believ- 
 ed that the sufferer had good reason to 
 suppose that he was to be betraved to 
 the agents of the Crown; (for she had no 
 doubt that the person was Essex,) will- 
 ingly entered into this scheme. 
 
 With the first streak of light Ralph 
 arose; and stealing out of the Hospital, 
 found his appointed guide at the door. 
 He had need of a guide ; for he was weak 
 in bodily health ; and his senses were 
 wandering. His guide had had the pre- 
 caution to bring a female servant with 
 her. They conducted him some miles 
 
 6 
 
Ill 
 
 on his road: and then found the necessi- 
 ty of taking their leave. The conversa- 
 tion had been wild and unsatisfactory. 
 Nothing had occurred, that removed the 
 suspicions that he was no other than 
 Lord Essex. But the danger of being 
 proved to have been the accomplice of 
 his flight deterred his guide from ventur- 
 ing farther. 
 
 Ralph now proceeded on his way : and 
 continued many days trudging the road 
 with such mean accommodation a s 
 chance threw upon him. He was little 
 disturbed in his progress, being every 
 where considered as a person innocently 
 crazed. The rapidity and incoherency 
 with which he continued to talk to 
 himself was the principal sign of this 
 malady . 
 
 Oue morning he waked with the 
 
1*3 
 
 slanting beams of a bright sun full on his 
 eyes He found himself in a large apart- 
 ment.beMiing the relies of ancient splendor. 
 Round the room hung two or three old 
 portraits painted on panned. Over the 
 heavy and fantastically decorated chim- 
 ney was a large shield of arms. It con- 
 tained numerous quarterings. In the first, 
 he gazed with eagerness as he beheld 
 the united/re? and cross oilFilloughbj! 
 This incident set his imagination into 
 a new flame. He fancied that he was re- 
 stored to the seat of his ancestors; that 
 all the splendor of the Baronial House of 
 Lfflngton would return ; that he should 
 take his seat in the House of Lords; be 
 among the leaders of the English nobili- 
 ty: and by an union of rank and talents 
 enjoy the sphere suited to an exalted 
 ambition . 
 
124 
 
 He rose, and rambled about tbe House. 
 Ail was of a similar character. A spacious 
 hall , through which every footstep 
 echoed : long passages : a massive stair- 
 case : a vast gallery, with an hundred 
 portraits, many of them dropping from 
 their frames. 
 
 He had not been long in the Gallery, 
 ■when he thought he heard low voices, 
 and the tread of light footsteps. He start- 
 ed; and then listened. All was silent; 
 and his fancy soon wandered to other 
 subjects. Again the whispers arose ; and 
 a door clapped; and a grim form darted 
 across the further end of the gallery . 
 Ralph cried out, with wild looks, and in 
 an aweful voice, as if he was addressing 
 supernatural Beings : « Who comes to 
 disturb my dominions? 
 
 «Be it a Spirit blest; or Goblin damn'd" 
 
_ f 
 
 let it come forth; and tell its purpose! I 
 am prepared for it : I can deal with Spi- 
 rits ! I can ride in the air; and pierce the 
 clouds; and lead the music of the winds ! m 
 
 « It is only a maniac ! » whispered a 
 trembliug voice: leave him to himself; 
 and he will not perceive us! » — « We 
 are not safe ! » answered a sterner tongue: 
 cc death tells no tales ! here is the thing, 
 that will do the job! « - — He drew 
 from his pocket a long knive stained 
 with blood. « Put it up, Gil! « cried 
 the first voice: « Put it up, I say! 
 when needs must,letitdo its work ! here 
 there is no occasion I » — 
 
 This came from a set of Gypsies, 
 who were in the custom of housing 
 themselves by night in this deserted 
 mansion. It had been an old sent of a 
 "Western branch of the Willoughby fa* 
 
126 
 
 mily , who had now come to decay. 
 
 The advice of the peaceable Gypsey 
 was correct . Ralph soon forgot what 
 had passed; quitted the house ; and 
 proceeded on his journey. 
 
 Another week passed, during which 
 he had advanced far on his way tow- 
 ards the Capital . When he beheld a 
 mighty Castle with its numerous tur- 
 rets glittering in the Sun at a distance 
 amid a laughing scenery of delightful 
 richness, he recognized objects familiar 
 to the earlier days of his residence in 
 England . But his memory was yet so 
 flighty , that he could not tell where 
 he was: nor on what occasions he had 
 beheld these objects . 
 
 He darted forward ; and in a few mi- 
 les found himself at the gate of a ve- 
 nerable mansion, over which the shield 
 
1^7 
 of arms arrested his notice. He gazed 
 
 upon it; and then a transient ray of di- 
 stinct recollection came upon him. It 
 vanished again « Those wheat-sheafs\ 
 
 Oh, how often have I seen them at old 
 Burleigh's door! — But I have been 
 here too ! I am sure, that I have often 
 sat in yonder baywindow ; and looked 
 upon these woodlands ; and seen the 
 golden sunbeams playing on von Cas- 
 tle-towers . J3 — 
 
 It Was Stoke, near Windsor; a little 
 before this time the residence of the 
 Lord Keeper Hatton, then deceased : — 
 of which Gray, the Poet, speaks in his 
 Lovg Story, as the place, where 
 
 The «rave Lord Keeper led the brawls : 
 The Seals and biases danced before him. 
 
 Queen Elizabeth is said to have 
 promoted this lucky Lawyer lor the 
 
128 
 
 gracefulness of his person; and his skill 
 in dancing; a singular recommendation 
 for the first judicial seat of the Kingdom . 
 
 Sir Christopher Hatton is however 
 said to have filled this great office with 
 ability and integrity. The Court over 
 which he presided, did not then take 
 the range it has since taken. It was a 
 successor, promoted to this office before 
 the end of the Reign, Lord Chancellor 
 Egerton, (afterwards created Lord Elles- 
 mere, and Viscount Brarkley,) (*) who 
 laid the foundation of the present system 
 of jurisprudence, which governs that en- 
 lightened Court. 
 
 Spenser has honoured Sir Christopher 
 
 (*) He died 1617. He was father 
 of the first Earl of Bridgewater . 
 
12 9 
 
 Hatton by the first of his Dedicatory 
 Sonnets, in these words: 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable , Sir Chris- 
 topher Hatton, Lord High Chan- 
 cellor of England, etc. 
 
 (wise 
 Those prudent heads, that with their counsels 
 'Whilom the pillars of th 1 earth did sustain, 
 And taught ambitious Rome to tyrannise, 
 And in the. neck of all the world to reign, 
 Oft from those grave affairs were wont abstain. 
 With the sweet lady Muses for to play: 
 So Ennius j the elder Africanej 
 So Maro oft did Caesars cares allay. 
 So you, great Lord, that with your counsel sway 
 The burden of this kingdom mightily, 
 With like delights sometimes may eke delay 
 The rugged brow of careful Policy: 
 And to these idle rhymes lend little space, 
 Which for their title's sake may find more grace, 
 
 Ed M. USD SrEMSEi 
 
i3o 
 
 Ralph had several times accompanied 
 Burleigh on visits to Stoke. (*) He en- 
 joyed the lively hospitality of this ac- 
 complished Courtier: and relished the 
 days spent here more than almost any 
 others he had pessed with Burleigh . 
 Another exalted Lawyer, of a very dif- 
 ferent character , came afterwards , ( if 
 my memory does not mislead me.) to 
 the possession of this place by marriage. 
 I mean the cruel and pedantic Chief 
 Justice, Sir Edward Coke: a man of 
 profound skill in technical Law; but of 
 
 (*) In the cemetery of this parish 
 was buried Gray, the Poet, whose 
 mother spent her last years, and died, 
 at Stoke . It is in the County of 
 Buckingham . 
 
i3i 
 
 very revolting talents ; and very una- 
 finable, if not base, heart. 
 
 Ralph gained admittance into the 
 house. All was now silence; solitude; 
 and melancholy . He yet knew not where 
 he was: but wandered through the rooms, 
 muttering to himself; till a door open- 
 ed ; and at the further end of the apart- 
 ment there met his eye a whole length 
 portrait of Gersenda Cecil. He started 
 bark: he shrieked: he fainted. 
 
 He knew no more what became of 
 him, till he again found himself wan* 
 dring without a guide on a strange road* 
 feverish, exhausted, despondent. Fatigue 
 or decay of strength; or want, seemed 
 suddenly to withdraw some of the clouds 
 from his intellect. He had spent his 
 last farthing; he was hungry; and thirsty r 
 and houseless- 
 
l3^ 
 
 He gat upon a bank; his heart gave 
 way to sorrow; and torrents of tears 
 flowed down his cheeks . In this state 
 a horseman , well mounted , and of a 
 martial appearance, passing by him, 
 seemed canght by his striking distress. 
 He stopped 5 gazed: then went on a few 
 paces ; then relumed . 
 
 « What ails you, my friend? *> said 
 he to Ralph. — Ralph found it difficult 
 to articulate an answer. « I cannot tell » 
 answered he : « I know not where I am; 
 nor whence I came ! « — « You seem 
 in distress! » continued the stranger. 
 <c I am indeed ! " replied he . — « But 
 how happens it? You seem to have 
 belonged to a better condition of life ! » 
 — « I cannot tell : I cannot tell ! » he 
 paused ; and beat his forehead : « oh , 
 
i33 
 
 I recollect , that I have been ship- 
 wrecked ! » — 
 
 « Surely » exclaimed the cavalier > 
 cc I have seen you before ! AV hat is your 
 name ? « — 
 
 « Oh, I know not: I know not! I 
 believe, that I have no name. What 
 is in a name? A name would do me no 
 good! n And then he sighed deeply. — 
 « Ah ; it has done me no good ! » — 
 
 The stranger continued to fix his 
 eyes intently upon him . At last he cried: 
 cc Were it not for the condition, in which 
 I see you, I should say that your name 
 was JVilloughby ! « 
 
 Ralph started, cc Willoughby ! » he 
 repeated almost with a shriek : « it is 
 some time since 1 have heard the sound! 
 — • it is a most unhappy one! but I be- 
 
i34 
 gin to think myself, that that is the 
 
 name ! » 
 
 The stranger now perceived, that his 
 memory was deranged : and he had no 
 farther douhts that the person was Ralph 
 Willoughby,with whom he had been well 
 acquainted two or three years before. 
 
 The stranger was Sir John Norn's, a 
 cetebiated Commander of this Reign, 
 whose seat in Berkshire was near the 
 spot, where he now found Ralph . He 
 desired Ralph to take shelter in his 
 house, which was not a quarter of a 
 mile distant; and sent two of his ser- 
 vants to conduct him thither. 
 
 Gentle attentions; quiet; regimen, 
 soon brought Ralph to his perfect sen- 
 ses; and he soon recognized in Sir Iohn 
 Norris an old, kind, and generous friend. 
 He told liim the history of his late 
 
1 3 5 
 
 misfortunes; and interested him deeply 
 in his chequered and unfortunate lot ! 
 
 Sir Ioho N orris is one of those lur-ky 
 characters, who have been immortalized 
 by Spenser. 
 
 Spenser's roll of Dedications maybe 
 regarded as the truest mark of distinction 
 and eminence in that very distinguished 
 age. It is true : that there are many of rank 
 and merit, 'whom he has omitted. But not 
 one has he eulogized, who did not at thai 
 time make a very striking figure. 
 
i36 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right noble Lord, and most 
 valiant Cap fain, Sir Iohn Norris, 
 Knight, Lord President of Minister, 
 
 "Who ever gave more honourable prize 
 
 To the sweet Muse, than did the martial crew, 
 That their brave deeds she might immortalize 
 In her shrill trump; and sound their praises due? 
 
 AVho then ought more to favour her, than you, 
 Most noble Lord, the honour of this age, 
 And precedent of all, that arms ensue ? 
 Whose warlike prowess, and manly courage, 
 
 Tempered with reason, and advisement sage, 
 Hath filPd sad Belgic with victorious spoil j 
 In France and Ireland left a famous gage; 
 And lately shalced the Lusitanian soil, (fame, 
 
 Sith then each-where thou hast dispread thy 
 
 Love him, that hath eternized your name, (i) 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
 (i) The tone and expression and rhythm of this 
 Sonnet has been striPingly imitated in one or 
 t\vo of the Sonnets of Milton . 
 
.a 7 
 
 There was nothing, which had more 
 effect in restoring the soundness ofRalph's 
 mind, and the chearfulness of his spirits, 
 than the conversation which he found 
 at the tables of those public characters, 
 who could command a larse establish- 
 ment. Ralph excelled in conversation with, 
 men , whose minds were Glled with 
 important concerns . His faculties were 
 invigorated by collision; and many lights 
 thus broke upon him, that he would 
 otherwise have missed. He had on these 
 occasions a rapidity of language, that his 
 pen could not have followed: and in 
 composition the necessity of this mecha- 
 nical labour would have lost many of 
 his most brilliant effusions. 
 
 Sir Iohn Norris, who had been more 
 engaged in an active Profession, where 
 the fatigues of the hody lea\e less time 
 
i38 
 for intellectual cultivation, listened to 
 the vigour and velocity of h s thoughts, 
 and the extent and readiness of his kooW- 
 lege, with surprize and delight. 
 
 Ralph was enabled, without betraying 
 any secrets, to give him a great deal of 
 political information, at once new and 
 \ery useful to him . 
 
 Nor did many of the visitors at Sir 
 Iohn NomYs table listen with less in- 
 terest to Ralph. He relieved the moraliz- 
 ing gravity of Samuel Daniel, (i) and the 
 minute prolixity of Michael Drayton(jh) 
 
 (1) Samuel Daniel was a Morale and 
 Historical Poet . 
 
 (2) The most celebrated Poems of Mi- 
 chael D raj ton are hh long Topographical 
 Poem, the Poly— Olbion ; and his little 
 spritelj piece the Nymphidia. 
 
i3f) 
 both of whom were at present visitors 
 of this seat: and who, on the death of 
 Spenser, succeeded^ however unworthily, 
 to some slight portion of his fame. The 
 two pastoral poets, Nicolas Breton , (3j 
 and Dr. Thomas Lodge, (4) were also 
 here; and paid great deference to the 
 genius of Ralph. 
 
 But one man of high rank was also 
 here: who had been one of Spenser's 
 best patrons in Ireland ; where patronage 
 was of the first importance to him. I 
 mean the Earl of Ormond. 
 
 (3) Some of Breton's short Lyrics art 
 exquisite gems . 
 
 (4) A selection of Lodge's pieees, which 
 vere very rare, has been lately given to 
 tJie public by Mr. Singer. 
 
i4o 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable > the Earl 
 of Ormond and Ossory. 
 
 Receive, most noble Lord, a simple taste 
 
 Of the wild fruit, which salvage soil hath bred: 
 Which, being through long wars left almost 
 
 waste, 
 With brutish barbarism is overspread j 
 
 And in so fair a land, as may be read, 
 Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicon, 
 Left for sweet Muses to be harboured, 
 But where thyself hast thy brave mansion! 
 
 There indeed dwell fair Graces, many one; 
 
 And gentle Nymphs, delights of learned wits j 
 And in thy person, without paragon, 
 All goodly bounty, and true honour sits. 
 
 Such therefore, as that wasted soil doth yield, 
 
 Reeieve,dear Lord, in worth the fruit of barren 
 field. 
 
 Edmund Spenser 
 
i4> 
 
 I know not in what estimation ths 
 Ormonds hold this Sonnet. It is one of 
 Spenser's best; and one of the most gra- 
 tifying. They ought to consider it as 
 one of the great glories of theinllustrious 
 and most ancient House , which has 
 continued for so many centuries in Tre- 
 land^and in England among the highest 
 ranks of nobility ; and which shines with 
 such splendor in the vivid colours of 
 Lord Clarendon r s pen . 
 
 Ralph accompanied Lord Orrnond to 
 London^ where he again was thrown into 
 the society of Raleigh . For Lord Or- 
 rnond and Raleigh had had much busi- 
 ness together in Ireland; and still kept 
 up their connection . 
 
 Raleigh chided Ralph ; hut chided 
 him gently; for he was still resolved to 
 win his confidence . Ralphs very reluo- 
 
i4^ 
 
 tance to yield his understanding to him 
 made the other yet more eager to van- 
 quish it, 
 
 Lord Ormond smiled, when he saw 
 the unexpected predominance, which 
 Ralph held over this great and domineer- 
 ing genius. He observed, that it was not 
 done by force, assumption, or insolence; 
 that it was done without efF rt ; or de- 
 sign $ or even consciousness: thnt it arose 
 from the force and naivete of a brilliant 
 mind , indulgent to others; yet firm in 
 its own convictions! — 
 
 But whatever courtesy and kindness 
 Raleigh threw on Ralph at this time, 
 much of its effect was lost upon him 
 by his grief for the fate of Essex . The 
 trial was over; and this unhappy No- 
 bleman was condemned to death. There 
 were those, who yet believed that mercy 
 
■ 43 
 
 would be extended to him . The Queen's 
 partiality to him was notorious . Her 
 sorrow and pity for him betrayed them- 
 selves in the deepest melancholy. 
 
 It was said, that, contrary to the most 
 marked characteristic of her mind and 
 temper, she was wavering. Much now 
 depended on the advice of those about 
 her, The Partv in Power were reported 
 to be unfavourable to the fallen Favorite. 
 But there were factions among them; 
 and the Court was full of intrigue and 
 treachery. 
 
 "\N hen Raleigh intimated opinions 
 leaning to the policy and necessity of 
 implacable punishment, Ralph looked so 
 shocked, mingled with something of in- 
 dignant anger, that the other percieving 
 it, became more reserved on the subject. 
 
.44 
 
 But Ralph was even horrified; and never 
 afterwards had the same opinion of Ra- 
 leigh . 
 
 Fssex was now brought to the block. 
 The Nation was bathed in tears ; and 
 followed the persecutors of this amiftble 
 and accomplished, yed not innocent, 
 Peer, with curses. 
 
 I know not how such a positive act of 
 rebellion^ as that of the Earl of Essex 
 could have b en forgiven . The Govern- 
 ment, that could be lenient to such acts, 
 could never stand. The fault was not in 
 the punishment ; but in the irritations, 
 that gave cause to the offence The 
 cunning, and rascally, cold blooded in- 
 triguers of the day, no doubt, took ad 
 vantage of the irritability of Essex's im- 
 prudent temper to inflame him to acts 
 of mad and ruinous resentment. 
 
1 4^ 
 
 The Queen, when the dreadful act of 
 justice was executed, sunk into irreco- 
 verable despair. Her attaachment to the 
 Sufferer has excited surprize, and ridi- 
 cule, and a thousand extravagant sur- 
 mises. At the Queen's age, and with 
 such a disparity of years, it is quite im- 
 possible it could have been a passion as 
 absurd as love would have been under 
 such circumstances. I know that there 
 are stories of her turn for gallantry in 
 her younger days: and I remember the 
 tale about Lord Thomas Seymour, (the 
 Admiral,) at Ashridge (1) of which the 
 
 (i) Since the seat of the Earls and Dukes 
 of Bridge water : lately rebuilt by the pre- 
 sent Earl . It is in Hertfordshire ; near 
 Hemel'Hernsted or rather in Bucks, 
 
 1 
 
i46 
 eossipers are so fond. But I also remem- 
 ber what was the conduct of this illus- 
 trious Sovereign through a long and 
 dangerous reign . I remember that she 
 shewed thai she had no private passions, 
 which were the mistresses of her actions. 
 Penetration; decision; grandeur, were the 
 traits of her mind, and disposition . She 
 was stern; but sternness was the quality, 
 that made her ride triumphant through 
 the political Ocean of those days, agitat- 
 ed by a thousand conflicting winds . 
 
 Ductility, doubt, want of self confid- 
 ence , would hute hurled her from the 
 throne in a few months. The vast 
 strength, and perpetual activity of the 
 Catholics; the aid they received from 
 almost every Foreign Power; the intrig- 
 ues of the Queen of Scotland 9 and her 
 numerous adherents, never left a moment, 
 
i4? 
 
 that did not require talent, firmness, 
 exertion, and maguanimity . 
 
 By the male line She was of a new 
 race; of a name, that did not inspire 
 awe among the old Nobility . Two of the 
 great Houses of the Peerage were as 
 nearly descended from The Plantagenets 
 aslierself;through the family ofBraridon y 
 who had married Mary, youngest sister 
 of king Hen \ III. the Stanleys and the 
 Qreys^ who had carried their blood in 
 marriage to the Seymours . (1) These 
 pretensions came in conflict with those 
 
 (1) The present Marchioness of 
 Buckingham , only child of the last 
 Duke of Chandos, is the heir and 
 representative of this line of Greys 
 and Seymours. 
 
i48 
 
 of the throne of Scotland, descended 
 from Margaret, Eldest sister of King 
 Hen. Vllf. 
 
 Though Queen Elizabeth, as daughter 
 of the Brother, may seem to modern 
 readers to have unquestioned priority to 
 these sisters, yet Henry's divorces , and 
 his Will, as well as that of his son King 
 Edw. VI. raised many questions in those 
 days . 
 
 The young, accomplished, poetical, and 
 amiable, Ferdinando Stanley,Earl of Der- 
 by, is supposed to have fallen a victim to 
 poison, because he would not lend himself 
 to the schemes of some of these intriguers* 
 The unhappy destiny of the Queen 
 of Scots must always draw deep commi- 
 seration from every feeling bosom. But 
 it seems clear, that the throne of Eli- 
 zabeth was not safe, while Mary lived. 
 
*49 
 The conduct of the Duke of Norfolk:(i) 
 and his engagements with Mary, are a 
 proof of this. 
 
 I do not blame Queen Mary . Her 
 intrigues were perhaps the natural con- 
 sequence of her situation . The most 
 doubtful part of her rival's behaviour 
 was the reception of her into England 
 under promises of protection, followed 
 by making her a prisoner. An act so 
 revolting to faith must be supposed to 
 
 (i) Thomas Howard , Duke of 
 Norfolk, (son of Hen. Earl of Surry, 
 the Poet.) suffered on the block for this 
 conspiracy . The Dukedom of Norfolk 
 was not restored till the Restoration of 
 K. Charles II The family, in the inter- 
 val ', bore the title of Earls of Arundel. 
 
 s. 
 
i5o 
 have arisen from State Secrets, which 
 History has not yet revealed. 
 
 If Elizabeth possessed by nature an 
 heart not made of melting materials, 
 the course of trials to which it was 
 exposed through a long and perilous life, 
 would in the ordinary course augment 
 its harshness . The direction of the su- 
 preme authority is too often but a choice 
 of evils from day to day. The enjoy- 
 ments that still press upon the senses; 
 pomp; splendor; diversity; new cares; 
 rest after fatigue; all efface momentary 
 pain; revive animation; and freshen 
 hope . But as old age comes on . these 
 resources against difficulty and affliction 
 fail . Then we see crimes, and cruelties, 
 *nd harslnrsses, in all their horrors . 
 
 The unhappy Queen now lost the 
 elasticity of her great spirit. She s^eut 
 
1 Dl 
 
 the day and the night in tears and 
 groans. Sue reproached those about her. 
 There is a story of Lady Nottingham, 
 the wife of the Lord Admiral (Howard, 
 which as I relate from memory , I may 
 tell imperfectly . It is said that the 
 Queen in a moment of favour had gi\ en 
 Essex a ring; and told him, if ever he 
 was in disgrace, to produce to her th^t 
 ring as the pledge of forgiveness No ring 
 had now been produced. After his death, 
 Lftdy Nottingham confessed to the Queen 
 thalshe had been em ployed as the messeng- 
 er of this precious pledge; and implored 
 forg i v eness for ha v i ng stopped it in its wa y „ 
 The Queen is reported to have said in an 
 agony of grief at this treacheiy : « God 
 may forgive J on : — / never will ! 
 
 Intrigues with the King of Scots now 
 thickened in every quarter . The expect- 
 
l52 
 
 ing Monarch, who prided himself upoa 
 his policy and wisdom, entertained se- 
 parately the correspondence of every 
 Faction j aud thought himself the master- 
 spring, who could move them all at his 
 will . But while he thought himself the 
 master of all, he was the dupe of all. 
 
 Ralph learned much of what was pass- 
 ing in the Palace of the dying Queen 
 from his friend Sir Robert Carey, a 
 younger son of the Lord Hunsdon, who 
 afterwards the moment the last breath 
 escaped from the Queen's lips stole 
 secretly, and in defiance of orders, from 
 the closed gates of the Court, took horse, 
 and rode without rest to Scotland to be 
 the first communicator of the tidings to 
 the anxious Heir . He has given a curious 
 account of thip himself in his own Life 
 under the name of Memoirs of the Earl 
 
i53 
 of Monmouth, to which title he was af- 
 terwards raised . 
 
 He was of the Queen's hlood by her 
 mother , Anna Boleyri : and by her, his 
 family, which were of ancient gentry 
 in Devonshire, were raised to the 
 Peerage . 
 
 Spenser has thus commemorated his 
 Father . 
 
ic>4 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the right honourable, the Lord of 
 Hunsdon, High Chamberlain to her 
 Majesty . 
 
 Renowned Lord, that for your worthiness 
 And noble deeds have your reserved place 
 High in the favour of that Emperess, 
 The world's sole glory, and h»r sex's grace; 
 
 Here eke of right have you a worthy place, 
 Rolh for yournearnrss to that Fairy Queen, 
 And for your own high merit in like casej 
 Of which apparent proof was to he seen, 
 
 When that tumultuous rage, and fearful din 
 Of Northern Rebels ye did paeifyj 
 And their disloyal power defaced clean, 
 The record of enduring memory. 
 
 Live, Lord, for ever in this lasting verse, 
 
 That all posterity thy honour may rehearse. 
 
 Edmund Spenser 
 
i55 
 Th e poet has also celebrated a Lady of 
 a name, \vhu h has been frequently con- 
 founded; with this; but which, though of 
 the same County, and of a race at least 
 equally ancient, is totally different in its 
 origin, and arms. I mean the name of 
 Cdre\V. though generally pronounced the 
 same as Carey . 
 
 I cannot at present from memoir 
 exactly particularize the Lady, to whom 
 this Sonnet is addressed : nor do I re- 
 member, whether Mr. Todd in his hie 
 E dition of Spenser has particularized 
 
 her I cannot believe h< r tobetheLadv of 
 
 j 
 
 genius, who was a dramatic writer, and 
 whose name, 1 think, was Carey. There 
 is no allusion in Spenser's Sonnet to thi s 
 Lady's literary talents. 
 
 Another branch of the Careys were 
 
 j 
 
 created by K. James I. Viscounts Fa/k- 
 land, of Scotland: and are memorable 
 
1 56 
 for having produced that beautiful cha- 
 racter, whose portrait Lord Clarendon has 
 laboured with so much fondness. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 To the most virtuous and most beautiful 
 Lady, the Lady Carew. 
 
 Ne may I, without blot of endless blame, 
 You, fairest Lady, leave out of this place,. 
 But with remembrance of your gracious name, 
 Wherewith that courtly girland mostye grace, 
 And deck the world, adorn these verses base: 
 Not that these few lines can in them comprise 
 Those glorious ornaments of heavenly gracey 
 Wherewith ye triumph over feeble eyer, 
 
 And in subdued hearts do tyrannize : 
 For thereunto doth need a golden quill, 
 And silver leaves them rightly to devise: 
 But to make humble present of good will; 
 
 A-Vhirh, when as timely means it purchase may. 
 
 In ampler wise itself will forth display. 
 
 £ DM USD §?E*SER* 
 
ii>7 
 
 From Sir Robert Carey's Memoirs a 
 lively picture may be drawn of these 
 times. The Queen was thrifty; and kepi 
 the Court poor . Its dependents lived 
 almost entirely upon expectation . They 
 were mistaken, if they hoped a golden 
 harvest from the new Monarch: that 
 was reserved for the favourites of his 
 own nation . 
 
 From the moment that Essex was 
 removed by the stroke of the axe, Sir 
 Robert Cecil obtained the primary and 
 uncounteracted influence over the Scotch, 
 King. He made some efforts to draw back 
 Ralph W illoughby into his confidence: 
 tut he was jealous of Raleigh's intimacy 
 with him: and his cautious manner, now 
 grown doubly cautious, and his increased 
 care, (for Burleigh had now been some 
 time dead,, and the weight of public 
 
i58 
 
 aflairs lay on the shoulders ot his son,) 
 made him far more repugnant to the 
 sympathy of Ralph, than he us^d to be. 
 Sir Robert had often found in Ralph 
 a vivacity and eloquence, which were 
 useful supplies of his own defects. Early 
 intimacy made it less unpleasant to 
 unbend with him than with any other. 
 The rays of Ralph's mini often penetrat- 
 ed into those recesses, where Cecil could 
 not see . The latter had inns opened to 
 him prospects, which the nature of his 
 own talents could not have commanded. 
 There were certain sympathies, which 
 he could not anticipate; and certain re- 
 sults of public measures, which he knew 
 not clearly bow to speculate upon. 
 
 In his conversations with Ralph he 
 had accustomed himself to use a frank- 
 ness, that his pride and reserve would 
 
1 5.9 
 not permit him to use with others. He 
 drew Ralph into several meetings . So- 
 metimes their conversation went on well 
 for an hour together: then a word, a luok, 
 broke in upon it; and as if by a spell 
 destroytd it. In truth, confidence once 
 broken scarcely ever becomes entirely 
 sound again. 
 
 Cecil would,if he could have ventured to 
 be explicit .have made an effort to detach 
 him entirely from Raleigh . But he dar- 
 ed not hazard even to Ralph the positive 
 declaration that his professed friendship 
 to Raleigh was not sincere. He was 
 equally desirous tosift Ralph with regard 
 to Raleigh's opinions and designs. But 
 Ralph had accidentally been thrown into 
 the confidence of such opposite parties, 
 that, as his sense of honour was in the 
 highest degree refined and active , his 
 
i Go 
 jealousy of a breach of faith was constantly 
 on the alert; and as quick as lightning. 
 Cecil therefore found that all his mana- 
 gement availed nothing in effectuating 
 either of the purposes, in which he was 
 so desirous of succeeding. 
 
 Ralph now behaved with more delicacy 
 and principle, than worldly wisdom . He 
 might easily have been restored to Cecil's 
 favour. If he would but have given up 
 Raleigh, whom Cecil little suspected how 
 far he was from approving or loving, he 
 might have possessed as much of the 
 favour of the other, as that intriguing 
 Statesman could give to any one. 
 
 Cecil's conversation was dark; and, 
 whether designedly or not, perplexed: on 
 some topics he was quite unintelligible 
 to Ralph. He had an idea of something 
 carrying on by Raleigh, of which Ralph 
 
i6i 
 knew nothing . He enquired anxiously 
 of Ralph, if he was acquainted with the 
 Cavendishes . Ralph to'd him that he 
 knew them very slightly The old Count- 
 ess of Shrewsbury, the last wife of Earl 
 George, to whose care Mary Queen of 
 Scots was committed, had exalted her 
 former husband Sir William Cavendish 
 into vast wealth. One of her daughters 
 had married the Earl of Lennox, the 
 uncle of King James, and was mother of 
 the Lady Arabella Stuart. This un- 
 fortunate Princess was, among others, 
 made the innocent instrument of some 
 dark intrigues in this plotting age. 
 
 The old Countess had been one of the 
 most sing ill r characters of her day. 
 Avaricious, ambitiou-, busy, intriguing, 
 acute in worldly wis !om, ostentatious, 
 sp'end d , imperious, she accumuratep 
 
i Go. 
 incredible wealth; set up three sons upon 
 vast property : and enabled her second 
 son to obtain an Earldom under the title 
 of Devonshire-, and her third to leave 
 an estate to his son, which with his per- 
 sonal merits , and a Barony inherited 
 from his mother, enabled him to acquire 
 by creation the Dukedom of Newcastle. 
 
 The Countess married another of her 
 daughters to her son in law, Gilbert the 
 next Earl of Shrewsbury . This younger 
 Countess vyas a mixure of folly and cra- 
 ziness:ta!kative, meddling, and indiscreet. 
 
 What mischief Cecil could fear from 
 these characters it is not easy to givss. 
 How poor Lady Arabella could be made 
 use of, for any purposes that would en- 
 danger the State, we are at this day in 
 the dark . 
 
 Cecil knew that Pialeigh was discon- 
 
i63 
 
 tented; and that be was as ambitious of 
 
 I ono irs. as be was of power Raleigh, with 
 Cecil, S : r Robert Sydney, and three or 
 feuf others, had tor some time been 
 aspiring to a Peerage. In that reign a 
 Peerage was very sparingly conferred. 
 The Queen, I think, had only given it 
 to St. John of Bletso,Bu< khurst Hunsdon, 
 Compton, and Burleigh: in addition to a 
 Summons to Lord Thomas Howard. 
 Tie three first were her relations; and 
 all expect Burle'gh who won it by l«- 
 boiious oftire, of prime quality among 
 the ancient gentry of the Nation. Rale'ghc 
 though his raee might be annent, was 
 Cf rtainly by descent not of this quality . 
 
 II is true that he had pretensions of a 
 much loftier kind : hut these pretentions 
 ii wis the fashion to reward ia a different 
 way. The personal history of these days 
 
i64 
 proves, that there flourished at this time 
 a great number of men, high in talent 
 and virtue, who combined with them 
 honourable descent and large estate. Yet 
 these men never thought of a Peerage. 
 
 I do not blame Raleigh for ibis : I 
 rather admire his unfettered spirit the 
 more . His end was right, if he confined 
 himself to legitimate means. But his 
 desire was perhaps too intense, duly to 
 weigh obstacles . He had prejudices, yet 
 immoveable as rocks, to contend with . 
 Direct force, however great, could make 
 no impression upon them . He resorted 
 on this account to sapping and raising. 
 
 He saw, as if he was the master of its 
 springs, the character of the expectant 
 Monarch . He beheld all its subtleties; 
 and all its weaknesses. He looked to the 
 
i65 
 
 day, when he should be able to move its 
 machinery as a puppet. 
 
 Cecil was fully aware of this : he ne- 
 ver slept upon Raleigh's motions: heknew 
 almost every movemeat; and he suspect- 
 ed much more than he knew; and some- 
 times imagined, what had not the slight- 
 est foundation. It was his present con- 
 viction that Raleigh was employing Ralph 
 Willoughby to carry on a secret corre- 
 spondence with Lady Arabella Smart. 
 
 This he had partly inferred from a 
 late conversation with Lord Cobham . 
 The manner, in which this last silly 
 Nobleman was in the habit of talking; 
 his rambling, incoherent, contradictory, 
 gossiping tongue; asserting and retract- 
 ing; hinting, and denying, made it diff- 
 icult for any one to come with clear ideas 
 out of the labyrinth of his words. Ce 
 
i66 
 cil's cunning here misled him: he refin- 
 ed too much; and supposed design in 
 what was wild inanity. 
 
 It has excited surprize, that Raleigh 
 could connect himself with such a man as 
 LordCobham. Raleigh may have had bett- 
 er reason than has been supposed His first 
 reason perhaps was the other's rank;and the 
 influence he at that time possessed with 
 the Queen. But with all this folly, often 
 real, sometimes affected, Gobham had oc- 
 casional flashes of bright ability He was 
 an intriguer; without restraint of con- 
 science; and ready for whatever his desires 
 led him to. 
 
 This eccentric combination of quali- 
 ties was uselul on many occasions to 
 Raleigh. Whenever he wished any thing 
 unsaid, all the blame of the former as- 
 sertion was thrown on^Cobham's unsteady 
 
i6y 
 
 tongue . His seeming openness often co- 
 vered the deepest designs; and led those, 
 who thought themselves wtse into dange- 
 rous orabsurd errors, when they believed 
 themselves ia possession of directing se- 
 crets. 
 
 Lady Arabella Stuart had seen little of 
 the world . .She had been principally a 
 reel use; nursing solitary aero?)) plishments 
 amid books, and reflection . Her dispo- 
 sition was kind; and her heart tender. 
 There had been a particular watchfulness, 
 lest she should form an alliance with 
 any of the great English Nobility. The 
 Seymours, who rwid already allied them- 
 selves to royalty through the Greys,were 
 supposed to be desirous of this marriage. 
 
 The younger Countess of Shrewsbury 
 had introduced R.alph to this Heiress at 
 one of the Shrewsbury residences . He 
 
i68 
 pitied the state of restraint, in which she 
 was brought up; and being attracted by 
 a gentle pensive manner, and an intelli- 
 gent style of conversation, he entered 
 with interest into discussions with her, 
 which she seemed to wish to prolong. 
 
 Had Ralph been vain, he would have 
 been elated by the apparent favour she 
 shewed to him. She complained of the 
 miserable domestic feuds, to which she 
 was a witness in the Shrewsbury family. 
 Lady Shrewsbury's brother, Sir Charles 
 Cavendish, and Lord Slin w&burys bro- 
 ther Edward Talbot, bid married s ; stersj 
 (coheirs of the Lord Ogle:) yet this com- 
 plicated alliance did not add to the har- 
 mony of L ird Shrewsbury with his bro- 
 ther, and heir presumptive, Mr. Talbot . 
 Their dissentions were tremendous. The 
 Cavendishes were looking to a Peerage, 
 
i6g 
 
 through Arabella's influence^ when James 
 should ascend the throne • 
 
 Ralph, won bv her frankness, commu- 
 nicated tn her much of the character of 
 the Court, and its chief actor«, vith 
 which she was before unacquainted. She 
 trembled at the thorns and precipices 
 omid which she had lived ; and among 
 which she was yet condemned still more 
 to live. There was a light and happiness 
 in Ralph's manner, whkh conveyed to 
 her with the uimost distinctness and vi- 
 vacity the portraits of those, of whom 
 he h<d occasion to speak. 
 
 She would have had his opinion of 
 O-ci* : hut on tin's Rlph was reserved. 
 He had the clearest view of Cecil's cha- 
 racter himself: but a friendship recollect- 
 ed with regret , and not yet abandoned, 
 made him consider it a breach of faith. 
 
 8 
 
170 
 to open liis real mind on the subject. He 
 was doubly cautious, because be knew 
 that Cecil was nut very well inclined to 
 the Lady Arabella . 
 
 The Cnpital again received Ralph in 
 its dark air; and annoyed him with its 
 dark political intrigues. A gloom over- 
 spread the Palace, and the City . Cour- 
 tiers were hurrying in every quarter, 
 with anxious and haggard looks; suspi- 
 cious of each other; the disappointed 
 expectants alone betrayed new hopes; 
 and exhibited brightened countenances. 
 
 They, whose hopes were the most li- 
 vely were the party, who had been dis- 
 appointed of a Peerage in the Queen's 
 last years, when they solicited it with 
 repeated urgency: such at least of them, 
 as were not in possession of those high 
 offices of the State, which they had a 
 
l 7 l 
 
 natural care to retain ; and of which the 
 demise of the Crown might deprive 
 them . 
 
 Ralph himself was among those whom 
 gleams of hope sometimes \i sited . He 
 had found the Queen relentless to his 
 family: he admired her talents for So- 
 vereignty; but the bitterness of indivi- 
 dual suffering dimmed his views of 
 her splendor; and brought perpetually 
 before his reflection the unamiableuess of 
 her defects . 
 
 Yet, though he was willing to foster 
 visions of interrupted hope, he always 
 remembered the feeble character of her 
 expectant successor .He was surprized at 
 Raleigh's confidence . His deference to 
 the experience of this vigorous-minded 
 man made him doubt his own observa- 
 tions : but yet he could not utterly sur- 
 
*7 2 
 
 render thoughts which were perpetually 
 returning upon him . 
 
 He had been indeed a little behind a 
 curtain, within which Raleigh had not 
 been admitted . He had drawn from Ce- 
 cil's looks and tones, what Cecil would 
 willingly have concealed; and had little 
 suspicion that he had betrayed to him . 
 Bnt the searching power of genius pier- 
 ces veils; and makes light out of dark- 
 ness. 
 
 There was a calm certainty of future 
 arrangements in all Cecil's speculations, 
 Yainly disguised , which made Ralph 
 see, that He and the future Monarch of 
 the English throne perfectly understood 
 each other, if so , he said to himself, 
 « Raleigh's fate is decided : Cecil will 
 never « bear such a brother uear the 
 throne » as Raleigh ! » — 
 
. 7 3 
 
 Had Ralph in one moment of unge- 
 nerous openness even given a hint of the 
 defects be saw in Raleigh, he had secur- 
 ed the favour of Cecil; he had obtained 
 a place in his heart, which would have 
 done every thing but place him on an 
 equality with himself. He half saw this: 
 but such w;is his scorn of favour won by 
 that which seemed to verge on perfidy, 
 that he betrayed a warmth apparently 
 uncalled for, whenever Cecil led to these 
 topics . 
 
 Cecil deliberated long on these sym- 
 ptoms in the manner of Ralph . He had 
 nothing within him, which taught him 
 the emotions of generous indignation. 
 The suspicion was confirmed in him, 
 that he was privy to some political se- 
 crets of Raleigh, too guilty to be be- 
 trayed. 
 
174 
 
 He bad had full intelligence of his 
 Jong conversations with the Lady Ara- 
 bella: but the subjects of those conser- 
 vations were the fruits of his imagina- 
 tion, not of accurate knowlege . And of 
 what was Cecil's imagination compos- 
 ed ? Not of matters of domestic life: not 
 of the visions of pouts ; or the beautiful 
 forms of the Creation : not of the nice 
 shades in the conflicting characters of 
 moral existence! — but of intrigues, and 
 plots, and treasons ! of schemes for pow- 
 er : of plans to supplant : of the robe of 
 Office 5 and the day of ruin ! — 
 
 It couid not enter his thought, that a 
 woman of Lady Arabella's birth could 
 entertain any plans but of political ex- 
 altation . She prayed but for love ; con- 
 tent; and safety! She envied the peasant 
 girl , who breathed the free air in the 
 
» 7 5 
 fields and woods; the mistress of her own 
 actions; and her own heart ! — Ralph read 
 poetry to her : her fancy listened; and 
 her soul glowed; till she was almost spi- 
 ritualized ! 
 
 But how could Cecil comprehend 
 this ? When did he breathe the air of 
 the country , but on stone terraces, and 
 clipped funereal ever green alleys|and 
 strait formal gravel walks? A\ hat reading 
 did he enjoy but a Secret State- paper? 
 And then for content ! where did he ever 
 taste it, but iu the exclusive possession 
 of place, power, and emolument? 
 
 Ralph mentioned to him the character 
 of Lady Arabella's mind, and disposition. 
 Cecil smiled incredulously . Ralph per- 
 sisted . Cecil thought it was an attempt 
 to mislead him; and grew more suspi- 
 cious. He said to him one day : « You 
 
ij6 
 
 have talents for business, Willough-byf 
 1 cannot conceive, how you can throw 
 them away on the empty pursuits, on 
 which you waste so much time ! "When 
 a person can Cud nothing better to do, 
 he may amuse himself by describing the 
 charms and beauties of rural peace, and ex- 
 ercise his ingenuity in praising the prim- 
 rose, and the violet. But you have been 
 initiated in the mysteries of public busi- 
 nessmen have shewn yourself fit for the 
 management of itrlhis isa strange return to 
 childishness, that I cannot reconcile to the 
 energy, and manliness of character, which 
 1 have always observed in you ! — As to 
 the great Lady, with whose instruction 
 } ouhnve charged yourself,! know women 
 tjo well to be deceived into the suppo- 
 sition that they can be sincere in the 
 love of privacy and solitude! It may 
 
'77 
 
 answer your purpose, Ralph, to talk so 
 
 to her: — it may be a mode of winding 
 yourself into her heart ! It is, my friend, 
 the secret way you take to arrive at a 
 Palace ! It is the end only, that conse- 
 crates the road ! There is nothing of 
 pleasure in the path itself! — aa Ralph 
 reddened with anger; and then smother- 
 ed it in a sfnile of involuntary contempt. 
 
 « Ah ! Ra'ph ! » exclaimed Ce( il with, 
 half-suppnssed bitterness, mingled with 
 triumph at a supposed discovery; « ah, 
 Ralph! Nature, I see, will out. These 
 poetical fancies then are but flowers to 
 cover your ambition! Will they cover 
 the snake's head , however closely it 
 rolls itself in the grass? » 
 
 Ralph was so utterly astonished by 
 this harangue, that he lost his usual 
 presence of aiiod; and sat silent . This 
 
178 
 
 unlucky silence still added to Cecil's 
 suspicions . 
 
 "I he Queen grew worse. Her hour 
 came ; and Death released her from 
 the cares of a Crown grown too heavy 
 for her strength . All flocked towards 
 Scotland, to pay their adorations to the 
 rising Sun . The crowds, that attended 
 the new Monarch to the English Ca- 
 pital , were like a moving population 
 of NoMes and Gentry and Placemen . 
 Queen Elizabeth bad been very spar- 
 ing even of the honour of Knighthood. 
 James lavished it , even on the most 
 obscure aspirants . 
 
 Ralph Willoughby could not so far 
 neglect his fortunes as to omit attend- 
 ing this cavalcade. The King sought 
 out men of genius and literature. He 
 had just conferred the honour on Sir 
 
W9 
 
 Joh> Davis (i), the celebrated Poet 
 
 and Lawyer: he almost immediately 
 afterwards called for Ptalph Willoughby; 
 and Knighted him , almost before he 
 guessed wli-at the Sovereign was about 
 to do . 
 
 Sir Ralph felt little gratification from 
 this honour , which had been already 
 laid on so many obscure and imbecile 
 beads. But be was flattered by the con- 
 versation, which James chose to bold 
 witb him . I be Monarch knew his li- 
 terary propensities; and praised bis ta- 
 lents and acquirements. 
 
 Sir Ralph thought that Cecil might 
 have taken the pains to have introduced 
 
 (1) Author of the celebrated me- 
 ta physical poem, Nosce Teipsum. 
 
i8o 
 him : but Cecil was that morning absent 
 from the Court . Indeed Cecil had much 
 to do : for the new Monarch commit- 
 ted the whole weight of public affairs 
 to him , as Willoughby had predicted 
 would be the case . 
 
 The whole system was now changed. 
 The King was as profuse in every thing, 
 as the Queen had been sparing. Cecilj 
 the Lord Chancellor Fgertoo ; Sir Ro- 
 bert Sydney ,- S'r Edwaid Wotton, 
 (elder brother of Sir Henry;} Sir Fran- 
 cis Knovslys ; Sir William Cavendish; 
 Arundel of Wardour; and otheis^ were 
 raised to the Peerage. 
 
 Pialeigh was omitted in this list; 
 Raleigh, who had aspired to this honour, 
 in the late thrifty and severe reign 3 
 when some of the others had net pre- 
 sumed so high . 
 
i8i 
 Raleigh was indignant . He thought 
 he percieved King Jdmes's countenance 
 grow every day more clouded towards 
 him He consulted with Cobham, North- 
 umberland, and Grey of Wilton, who 
 all thought that they perceived the 
 same . 
 
 Raleigh now expressed to Sir Ralph 
 Willou_,hby his suspicions of the new 
 Lord Cecil. The other was impenetra- 
 bly silent; but this silence did not lessen 
 the fears, which had thus been taken 
 up At length Raleigh asked ^illough* 
 by in direct terms his opinion of Ce- 
 cil's friendship to him. "\\ illoughby 
 could no longer evade . He answered : 
 « Judging from public appearances only, 
 I cannot suppose him to be your friend! > 
 Raleigh started; struck his forehead j 
 and appeared iu au agony . He exclaim- 
 
l82 
 
 ed, as if unable to restrain the secret 
 movement ofhis heart : « for what have 
 I destroyed my peace of mind ! To 
 destroy my protector : my defence ! to- 
 rid my oppressor of the only obstacle to 
 his cruel despotism ! Down, proud heart! 
 afflict thyself/ thou desenest ii! « — 
 
 His face was convulsed: he paused: 
 and then a big tear or two rolled down 
 his hardj war-worn face; and lie was 
 calmer. Never before had Willoughby 
 seen the great soul of this magnauimous 
 man subdued . 
 
 Willoughby was overcome by this 
 unexpected sight . Expressions of anger 
 and resentment would not have touched 
 him. He told Raleigh to call up those 
 gigantic talents, which belonged to him. 
 He said: « Stoop not to circumstances: 
 rely not on favour, and management: 
 
*$3 
 
 man's favour cannot be commanded ! 
 envy and interest interrupt it: when most 
 we want it, it always most flies us! » — 
 
 « But » said Raleigh with a softened 
 sigh t and humility which Willoughby 
 had never before witnessed; « can we 
 do without favour and manageojeut 7 I 
 would do without it, if I could ! You 
 know my proud heart. I fear-you know 
 it too well ! » 
 
 « It mun not be crushed! It must 
 be passed and overlooked! » cried Will- 
 oughby . — Raleigh turned pale. 
 
 « Crushed » repeated he « Crushed ! 
 why. I have courted this ungrateful man! 
 not attempted to crush him ! » To crush, 
 is alwavs wrong; and often impossible ! » 
 answered Ralph: « but neither is courting 
 tht way to succeed! "By Heaven « ex- 
 claimedRaleigh, cryouhavea noble spirit! 
 
i84 
 You burst with a newlightupon me! « — 
 
 And then he paused: and trembled — 
 
 « Alas, I fear it is too late ! » — 
 
 « But why depend on Cecil? « con- 
 tinued Ralph: « bis talents are not 
 equdl to yours! x> « I have depended 
 on him too ninth, » said Raleigh wi lb 
 a groan; « his mind is as crooked, as 
 his body. » — 
 
 cc Depend not on him then! win by 
 yoar sword! command by your genius! 
 bend circumstances to your will! crouch 
 not beneath them! leave courts and 
 intrigues to themselves; and believe 
 that all they ran give is not worth 
 a quarter of the debasiug price that 
 it costs! 
 
 Raleigh shuddered. « Accursed, most 
 accursed chains ! » cried he in an agony : 
 « Would that I was like thee, Willough- 
 by ! » — 
 
iS5 
 Ralph was glad to terminate this 
 painful conversation. It increased a 
 suspicion he had long entertained, that 
 Raleigh had in some way put him- 
 self i ip prudently at the mercy of Ce- 
 cil. He was astonished, that with R.a- 
 leigh's insight into human nature, he 
 had not better calculated upon Cecil's 
 character. 
 
 Raleigh had not a very kind opinion 
 of the human heart. It must have 
 been among strong and obvious im- 
 probabilities even in the opinion of 
 the most benevolent estimators of hu- 
 man morals , that Cecil could ever 
 voluntarily admit Raleigh into a near 
 participation of power . Minor talents 
 are always jealous, monopolizing , in- 
 tr'guing, covert, perfidious; and safe only 
 \mdir the weapons of artifice. 
 
i86 
 
 Willoughby did not yet think his 
 own fortune at Court desperate . He 
 gave occasional attendance there; and 
 sometimes received smiles from the 
 Monarch . The Earl of Southampton, 
 who had been released from the im- 
 prisonment to which he had been con* 
 demued in the late reign for the share 
 he had in Essex's Insurrection, remem- 
 bering the partiality entertained for 
 him by his late lamented friend, was 
 more especially anxious to bring him. 
 under the King's favourable notice. 
 
 Cecil's behaviour to him was so 
 capricious, that he was unwilling to 
 expose himself to its uncertainties. 
 Sometimes this Statesman, now grow- 
 ing greater every day, seemed ready 
 even to solicit a rel urn of Sir Ralph's 
 familiarity and confidence: but then. 
 
i8? 
 
 when tie had been seen a day in the 
 company of Southampton or Raleigh, 
 he grew cold, or insolent, and fierce, 
 and taunting. Sir Ralph was not of a 
 temper to bear these provoking changes. 
 He returned fierceness for fierceness ,-and 
 taunt for taunt. Lord Cecil, surprized to 
 find the other neither dazzled by his 
 new splendor, nor daunted by his new 
 power , became alternately resentful , 
 and overawed . 
 
 At one time he recommended to the 
 Monarch to promote this old iriend: 
 at another, he undid his own recom- 
 mendation by sly hints, which he knew 
 to be best calculated to poison the 
 pusillanimous Sovereign's morbid mind. 
 His sister Gersenda Cecil had been 
 long married to the son of a rich City 
 Knight^ whom she despised, and hated . 
 
i88 
 
 Aq endeavour was made to reconcile 
 hertohtr husband, by a promise to raise 
 him, base as his bhih was, to the Peerage, 
 now become prostituted by one or two 
 mercantile advanrements of a similar 
 sort . But Gersenda had not forcot her 
 old predilection ; and she was anxious 
 once more to admit Sir Ralph Will- 
 cughby to her favour. 
 
 He turned with horror from . these 
 flagitious advances. It was only from 
 the belief, long since vanished, of an 
 unsophisticated, and honourable affec- 
 tion, that he could ever find any charms 
 in her. S .e came full smiling to the 
 Court, decked in her pearls and dia- 
 monds: she lookt-d around her for 
 admiration : she cast a triumphant glance 
 on Sir Ralph Willoughby ! He started: 
 a Where is it » he said to hi.nself, 
 
cc that I could have seen her ns I now 
 see her? » The impression of the pic- 
 lure at Stoke was before him: but 
 he was not aware of the i ircumstance . 
 His journey from Cornwall was a blank 
 in his mind. 
 
 With eves and ears extraordinarily 
 acute, he looked around him : and was 
 astounded at the utter change, which 
 had taken place in the whole fashion 
 of the Court. Hitherto there had been 
 a repulsive sort of ceremony: men could 
 not break certain barriers: there were 
 etiqnettes. which now and then sup- 
 pressed merit; and chilled pleasure: 
 but how much oftner did they cheek 
 presumption; and keep in awe vice! — 
 The new Monarch's Court was a 
 Court of licentiousness and anarchy: 
 not because he was wanting in the 
 
19° 
 most exaggerated ideas of the kingly 
 
 power: but because he thought that 
 power omnipotent , and capable of con- 
 ferring greatness on insignificance j and 
 strength on inanity. 
 
 In the former reign, that part of the 
 minor gentry, whom arrogance and con- 
 ceited self-importance wonld have urg- 
 ed, if they had dared , to obtrude into 
 higher spheres, were kept in such check, 
 that theyseldom overleapt, or attempted 
 to overleap , the barrier. Now and 
 then, vast wealth, aided by other for- 
 tunate circumstances , did overleap it: 
 but it was a phueuomenon. The new 
 Monarch had no tact on this subject; 
 he did not know the old from the 
 new families. The moment that Wealth 
 was admitted to be the criterion, some 
 
 of the meanest rose over mauyofthe 
 
 most illustrious Houses. 
 
igi 
 In a Commercial Country , above all 
 others , the predominance of mere 
 Wealth must be kept in check. The 
 mean qualities, by which it may always 
 be obtained; not to speak of the tur- 
 pitude, by which it too generally 1*5 
 obtained; render this necessary. 
 
 Every thing now proceeded in a 
 rapid course of deterioration . Fine 
 dress, handsome persons, buffoonery: 
 splendor to the eye; coarseness to the 
 understanding; and coarseness in the 
 manners; trifling; dissolute amusements; 
 uncalrulated expence ! — Cecil was con- 
 tent to let the Court go its own way, 
 if it but gave up to his command the 
 reins of government. Lord Ellesmere 
 presided with unshaken integrity and 
 wisdom over the Law; and corrected 
 its harshuesses by an enlightened spirit 
 
of Equity. Buckhurst , now become 
 Earl oi Dorset), had a nit » Otis and pe- 
 rilous woik to manage the Treasnry . ' 
 
 Raleigh, neglected, discontented, and 
 ^lad to find occasion of censure, indulg- 
 ed id vehement harangues Against i 
 system of administration, which outrag- 
 ed with such ignorant blindness those 
 great principles of State and political 
 economy, into which his presaging 
 genius s. w so clearly long b fore others'. 
 He was glad to throw the blame on 
 Cecil: but Cecil saw it w'th sufficient 
 disapprobation; though not in the clear 
 light, in which it was beheld by Ra- 
 leigh . He had not the power to stop 
 the influx of this tide of stupid waste- 
 fulness. His fault was in his reckless 
 ambition: in retaining that power, 
 which he could not conduct accord- 
 ing to his own judgement. 
 
ic>3 
 Raleigh, Northumberland, Cobham, 
 Grey of Wilton, and others met fre- 
 quently to complain of grievances, and 
 give vent to their spleen . Sir Ralph 
 "Willoughby reasoned with Raleigh; and 
 endeavoured to moderate his vehe- 
 mence; and to exculpate Lord Cecil 
 from many of the faults, with which 
 his shouMers were unjustly loaded. 
 But Raleigh's threats of veugeance were 
 not to be suppressed . 
 
 Lord Cecil was now created Earl of 
 Salisbury . This made Raleigh's rage 
 boil afresh. " Leave the little man to 
 himself, my illustrious friend! « said 
 Willoughby: « it is only by contend- 
 ing with him, that you will be foiled! 
 Overlook him ; pass him ; leave him 
 behind : go your own great way; and 
 the game is yours! » — Raleigh sigh- 
 
 9 
 
4 94 
 edj and trembled : he clasped Wfl- 
 
 loughby's hand: « if I had had, » ( he 
 answered,) « such an adviser as you. a 
 few, a very few years ago, I had not 
 known this afflicting trial of my spi- 
 rit ! » — 
 
 « The world is yet all before you ! » 
 Sir Ralph went on in a tone of ge- 
 nerous and noble consolation: « never 
 yet was it in the power of one man 
 to suppress the genius of another, but 
 by that other's own fault! * 
 
 « Ah, fault ! » replied Raleigh : « had 
 I had but half your sublime simpli- 
 city of heart and understanding, 1 had 
 been saved ! » 
 
 This conversation had passed between 
 them, when by themselves. Before 
 others, Raleigh still kept up his dig- 
 nity : and his appearance of an un- 
 daunted mind ! 
 
tgS 
 The Earl of Salisbury had not yet 
 entirely abandoned Willoughby. He 
 kept a strict eve upon all Ii is move- 
 ments : he Wrll knew every interview 
 between him and Raleigh : he even 
 obtained communications of parts of 
 their conversations . Part of the last 
 very memorable advice given by him 
 to Raleigh had been overheard , and 
 repeated to this iuquisitive and anxious 
 Minister . 
 
 Salisbury deliberated in what manner 
 to treat the subject of this intelligence. 
 He still thought AVilloughby too va- 
 luable a coadjutor to be lost! He thought 
 the advice tended to urge Raleigh to the 
 adventures of sea-voyages: and to this 
 he had no objection . 
 
 Not all his full possession of power 
 could quiet his dread of Raleigh's ascea- 
 
dant talents. Nor did he less dread his 
 undaunted spirit; and his scornful dis- 
 regard of slight or common obstacles . 
 Deeply versed himself in the obliquities 
 of human nature, always suspicious, and 
 believing that outward appearances were 
 not for a moment to be relied upon ; he 
 had not such confidence in the conti- 
 nuance of the Monarch's favour, as to be 
 sure that he was yet safe from Raleigh's 
 direct talents . 
 
 He saw with uneasiness, grief, and a 
 mixture of suppressed indignation and 
 scorn, the Monarch's numerous weak- 
 nesses, foibles and faults. These would put 
 him at the mercy of Raleigh, if Raleigh 
 could once find a familiar approach to 
 him. But even the King's best qualities, 
 (for he had some endowments of mind) 
 would increase the force of Raleigh's ia- 
 
m 
 
 cility to get a mastery over his spirit, 
 He now concei\ed the design of using 
 Willoughby as a counter balance to Ra- 
 leigh . He had sufficient penetration and 
 judgement to appreciate the full strength 
 and brilliance of Willougliby's endow- 
 ments . He had also learned that to him, 
 Raleigh himself yielded an unaccountable 
 deference . 
 
 The interviews with Willoughby 
 which he procured in pursuance of this 
 scheme, were not at all satisfactory. 
 Willoughby had lost all relics of confi- 
 dence in Salisbury : he suspected that it 
 was the other's plan to entrap him into 
 a breach of Raleigh's confidence. This 
 failure confirmed the suspicions, and 
 redoubled the hatred, of both. 
 
 Vs illoughby was now more weary of 
 the new Court, than he had beeu of the 
 
iq8 
 eld . Raleigh would have made him a 
 confidential member of all his discon- 
 tented cabal's : but they were irksome > 
 and even disgusting to him . 
 
 He had lately received from abroad a 
 scanty pittance of his poor share of the mi- 
 serable wreck of his father Lord Ufting- 
 ton's fortunes. With this he resolved to 
 retire to a cottage in the country; and 
 bury himself in solitude for the remain- 
 der of his life. He chose his spot; and 
 communicated to no one its position . 
 
 It was a scattered hamlet of half a 
 dozen houses, about a mile from the 
 village where was placed the parish 
 church. All the inhabitants were wood- 
 men, except one: this last was a shepherd. 
 Sir Ralph hired the whole cottage 5 and 
 expended a small sum in adding a few 
 conveniences to those which the humbler 
 ranks of life required . 
 
*99 
 The first week of escape from the 
 
 torment of the passions and cares by 
 which he had been lately assailed, was 
 Elisium to him . When the pure air of 
 the country adds novelty to its refreshing 
 powers; when the silence of all around 
 sits with the charm of peace upon the 
 bosom ; when the beauty of every form 
 of Nature, opposed to the vapid, facti- 
 tious, nauseating combinations of man in 
 congregated habitations, bursts upon the 
 delighted senses; when the heart breathes 
 freely again, and the blood runs in kind- 
 ly currents through the veins ; how the 
 soul exults at its libera tiou! how the 
 mind glows at its recovered existence! 
 how joyful is every thought, except 
 that, which regrets the time that has 
 been lost . 
 
 A little garden surrounded his small 
 
20O 
 
 dwelling. He began to till it with Tiis 
 own hands . Vegetation was in its first 
 burst: the young leaves shone in the 
 dew of the most brilliant emerald: the 
 first simple flowers of the Spring open- 
 ed with exquisite perfumes upon the 
 humble beds. 
 
 He said to himself: "at how moderate 
 a price ; and how free from the coun- 
 terbalances of "vice and temptation, is to* 
 be had all of real enjoyment that life 
 can give! It is accursed ambition, that 
 leads us astray : that sin, which must 
 have been the inheritance of Adam's 
 Fall ! Air; exercise; light labour; restj 
 free thoughts ; the scenery of this 
 beautiful face of things; the change oi 
 seasons; the succession of day and nightj 
 the dawn; the meridian ; the twilight * 
 all, when undebased by man's passions 
 
201 
 
 Ind crimes, Confer unalloyed enjoyment! 
 There are moments when 5 look bitk on 
 the long line of my illustrious ancestors 
 with satisfaction! But when I consider 
 that to this descent I may attribute the 
 impulse by which I have been carried 
 into that career of perilous and sophi- 
 sticated society, which ha< ; been my tor- 
 ment and my ruin, how strongly am I 
 disposed to wish that my birth had been 
 obscure; and that my lot had fallen in 
 the abodes of humble and contented 
 competence ! 
 
 « If we believe that man is exalted in 
 proportion to the intellectual part of his 
 enjoyment, why do we seek those haunts 
 where it is most feltered and oppressed ? 
 Are Courts the places where Fancy ex- 
 pands her wings; and visions of ideal 
 pleasure visit us? Are crowded masses 
 of corrupt and irritated Man, where all 
 
202 
 
 the fury of ihe greater, and all the tur- 
 pitude of the petty passions , are in 
 frightful conflict, are these the spots, 
 where the Mind can elevate, or invi- 
 gorate her exertions? I have been 
 contending with those, whose defects 
 were their sure means of success; whose 
 stupidity was their protection j and 
 whose baseness was their guide! What 
 have I gained? I have lost the time, that 
 would have led to excellence in the 
 path, for which Nature fitted me. I 
 hove been employed, at the cost of care, 
 suffering, danger, in a line where 1 have 
 gained nothing : but have been loaded 
 •with insult, disgrace , and bitterness ! 
 « It Is past ! — the dream is vanished! 
 But alas, it is not as if it had never 
 been ! I feel too painfully that it has 
 left its traces behind it ! I cannot efface 
 from my memory a thousand galling 
 
20j 
 
 looks and words and observations! The 
 glow of that which my imagination 
 creates, is clouded by the obtrusive 
 presence of the sable figures which my 
 experience has encountered ! My phi* 
 lanthropy is chilled; my hope is palsied: 
 I say to myself, « these pictures, how 
 beautiful they are I but, alas, how ray 
 heart sinks, at the reflection that they 
 are not true! » — 
 
 « Why does Providence confer upon 
 lis a Being so full of inconsistencies? 
 Why are our visions so beautiful; why 
 is our conduct so imperfect, so sen- 
 sual, so base ? Why do we delight to 
 contemplate the rural peasant so in- 
 nocent, so simple, so contented, and so 
 happy! and why are we destined to 
 find him so coarse, so sensual, so stu- 
 pid 3 and so heartless ?„ 
 
2o4 
 
 "Willoughby soon became sensible 
 thai solitude had its evils. A wound- 
 ed mind cannot always be safely left 
 -to its own reflections. The pain of in- 
 tensity is sometimes more dangerous 
 than the pain of interruption. He could 
 )only find relief in the variety of his 
 ^mental occupations. He commenced 
 the outline of a long Heroic PoemJ 
 Ibe began a set of Moral Essays; and 
 lie formed the plan, and made the 
 ifirst attempt, of a Memoir of his Chv D 
 Time. In the last he resolved to draw 
 sketches of character with a frank bnt 
 candid hand; yet so much to the life 
 as to preclude their appearance before 
 the public in his own days. He never 
 lived to finish these Memoirs. 
 
 Sometimes he found his intellectual 
 tasks occupy too much of his time 
 
20 f 
 
 and* care; and exercise under the open* 
 sky, which could alone obtain for hinv 
 a continuation of enjoyment in hia 
 present dwelling, became neglected, or 
 postponed . 
 
 Some uneasiness arose at a suspicion 
 that his retreat had been traced There 
 was brought to him a most mysterious 
 anonymous letter^ to which at first he 
 could in no pnrt affix any distinct mean- 
 ing . The writing was of a disguised 
 hand. Willoughby repeatedly examined 
 k, because lie thought the forms of some 
 of the letters were familiar to him. 
 At last he recollected some Manuscript 
 io his possession, which it seemed to re- 
 semble . It was a letter of the illustrious,- 
 but unhappy, Sir Francis Bacon . 
 
 This enlightened lawyer, and wonder- 
 ful genius, was a first cousin of the Eacl 
 
ao6 
 of Salisbury; to whom he yet owed little 
 favour; and nothing of his elevation. He 
 had indeed been a partizan of Essex; 
 against whom, with a grievous reproach 
 to our fallen natures, he pleaded wilb 
 earnestness at his fatal Trial . 
 
 I must not attempt the character of 
 Bacon. It has been the subject of a thou- 
 sand pens. Willoughby admired his gi- 
 gantic talents ; and lamented with de» 
 jection of heart his numerous weaknes- 
 ses. 
 
 He shuddered, when he reflected upon 
 the letter he had now received . Some- 
 times he imagined it to contain dark 
 advice; and that it warned him against im- 
 plicating himself in dangerous designs by 
 a Party, that seemed to point at Raleigh, 
 as their chief* Sometimes he suspected il 
 to be a trap to furnish evidence against 
 
207 
 him on a futrcre occasion . It was hi* 
 prevalent opinion, that it was a snare 
 laid for him by Salisbury. 
 
 He employed four excruciating hours 
 of a beautiful morning in deliberating oa 
 this mysterious subject. When reflection; 
 could no longer avail him ; when his 
 mind became a chaos of perplexities, he 
 threw the letter in indignation into his 
 drawer; siezed his hat,* and walked and 
 ran with an hurried and almost breath- 
 less pace, till he was exhausted . He had 
 passed he knew not whither • he was in? 
 the depth of a thick and apparently in- 
 terminable wood , when the song of a 
 melodious human voice sounded from a 
 distance . His heart was cheered ; he pac- 
 ed slowly; and recovered his breath . 
 
 At length, at a distant point of the 
 long yista before him, a small break let 
 
in the light of the sky. He hastened! t<* 
 it. The opening was on the brow of a 
 hill, which commanded a glimpse of the 
 blue Ocean; and on the cliffs, which 
 overhung it, of a mighty Castle raising its 
 massy towers in the dim air. 
 
 He stopped: « O beautiful and mnjes- 
 tic scenes of Nature ! » he exclaimed : 
 " Ye are the only balm for the tumults 
 of the heart! Vile intrigues! horrible 
 conspiracies of man, that disfigure you; 
 and let loose the demons of Malice and 
 Fury to lay waste the enchanting charms 
 of this material globe ! Blow upon me, 
 ye winds! exalt my ear, ye zephyrs, to 
 listen to the harmony of the spheres!,,-- 
 
 He ran along the brow: descended the 
 valley; and mounting another hill, be- 
 held the blue sea more gloriously: and 
 the white cliffs of rival France glittering 
 dimly in the faint horizon . 
 
209 
 He now vowed ati eternal farewell to 
 the world : and resolved most earnestly 
 never again to quit the grandeur of na- 
 ture in her Solitude for the restless and 
 wicked abodes of Man ! 
 
 It was not till Night closed round him, 
 that he returned to his cottage. He had 
 brought a few books with him. He took 
 up the Poems ot a Friend; and his eye 
 was attracted by the following : 
 
^1© 
 
 SONNET 
 
 ON 
 
 S O L I T UDE 
 
 To sit, and listen, while the lulling wind 
 Sounds its lugubrious tones along the sky: 
 To hear each battlement with mournful cry 
 Give hack the shrill lament, appals the mind, 
 
 "Which is not to sublimer thoughts assign'd : 
 But he, who fancies he is lifted high, 
 A prelude of celestial strains to try, 
 Can joy in these soul-moving murmurs find ! 
 
 A mental Being it does ill beseem 
 
 To shun reflection- and to live in crowds, 
 Lest thoughts, like ghosts, should trouble and 
 
 Yet are men wont this solitude to deem (affright! 
 An evil, which the light of life enshrouds; 
 And covers day with sadness, and with night! 
 
2 11 
 
 It is vain I We may fly to the deepest 
 solitudes : but our Fate pursues us ! — 
 W e are many of us born to misfortune 
 and misery, for causes inscrutable to our 
 limited faculties ! for faults not our own! 
 from destinies, which virtue cannot over- 
 come! 
 
 Willoughby passed a most agitated 
 night! Frightful dreams succeeded each 
 other. He waked: he strove to break 
 their train: when he closed his eyes 
 again, new horrors of gigantic form rose 
 in troops upon h's iancy. He imagined 
 he was* dragged to the scaffold : fiends 
 tied his hand, and held him to the block: 
 the cruel axe fell: his head was severed 
 from his body: it rolled in its gore, when 
 the form of his Father burst upon the 
 stage; and caught it in his mantle . He 
 shrieked so loud, that the peasant, who 
 
&12 
 
 tvaited on h : m, came into his room. The 
 big drops stood upon h is face . He trem- 
 bled in every limb . He could no longer 
 trust himself to sleep. 
 
 He rose: He procured a candle: he took 
 a book; and endeavoured to read . The 
 stillness of Night was now oppressive to 
 bis appalled heart. He endeavoured to 
 soothe his mind by a resort to the Muse: 
 and made the rash attempt to charm 
 away his horror by describing it . 
 
 Fragment. 
 
 To Light. 
 
 I, 
 
 It was a night 
 
 Of Horror. The blest Moon 
 
 Refused her influence boon; 
 
 And birds and beasts stood motionless with fright. 
 
 Black as a pull while Darkness hung 
 
 Unmingled with a ray 
 
 Of arrowy grey, (flung. 
 
 Abreath-exhaustiug weight on Nature's form she 
 
2l3 
 
 n. 
 
 Thou thrice-blest Beam ! 
 
 Whether in gold onshorD, 
 
 Or with the dawn of Morn, 
 
 Or silvery from the Moon thy radiance stream,- 
 
 Or from the Star, that vapours veil, 
 
 Faint coruscations break 
 
 The gloomy flake; 
 
 I bend th 1 adoring knee, thy gifts of life to hail! 
 
 He now found himself so much ex- 
 hausted 9 that he could not continue 
 this sort of mental occupation . 
 
 He watched the dawn of light: and 
 when the morning came, found comfort 
 in its protection . While tht dews were 
 yet heavy upon the ground , and en- 
 veloped the m w-sprung vegetation, he 
 went forth to breathe the freshness , 
 and wade through the retiring vapours. 
 He took liis way along the principal 
 lane that led to the hamlet. A.t the 
 
2l4 
 
 distance of a quarter of a mile, the lane 
 emerged upon a down: the mists yet 
 threw all around him into invisibility: the 
 btll of the sheep was heard almost close to 
 him, when not a glimpse of them was to 
 be seen : every sousid travelled through 
 this grey veil as if it was conveyed by 
 it with greater distinctness. The inter- 
 rupted voices of the early villagers ; the 
 tinkle of the harness of the team going 
 to their work ; the first screak of the 
 plough; the cheer of the woodmen in 
 the salute of their fir^t meeting ,• the 
 whirl of the village bucket at its ear- 
 liest labour; — every rural sound, now 
 came with a sort of musical clearness 
 on Willoughby's ear. 
 
 At length he heard the tread of a 
 horse or rather two horses, moving with 
 an activity uuhke the sluggish pace of 
 
3l5 
 
 the cattle of husbandmen. At first he 
 suppossed them to be sportsmen . The 
 sounds rapidly approached : in on in- 
 stant a volee saluted him . It was Sir 
 Walter Raleigh ! « So , I have found 
 you out, Willoughby! » said he. « I 
 am come for a day, or two, to partake 
 of your solitude! I should have been 
 with you last night: but I lost my way! 
 I spent three hours, till the dawn, under 
 a lone shed, in the valley, on the other 
 side of yonder hill ! » - — 
 
 Willoughby had never before beheld 
 Raleigh with so much repugnance: He 
 returned his salute so coldly 9 that he 
 was afraid that Raleigh pereieved it . 
 He was sure that this deep man did 
 not come for nothing: that he had some 
 secret object, not unimportant: He 
 said with aa affectation of gaiety : 
 
ai6 
 « Bcally , Sir Walter , I thought that 
 I had found a relreat, which even you 
 rould not penetrate ! » — « Well » an- 
 swt red Raleigh; affecting good humour 
 in return — « the reception must be 
 welcome, in poportion to the difficulty 
 of the task ! u — 
 
 <c And where, « he continued ; « is 
 this seductive spot of ease and quiet 
 and content? It it is not near, I must 
 yet lay up my hones under the trunk 
 of the stunted tree that we are approach- 
 ing: for I assure you, I am very weary 
 with my night's journey ! » — 
 
 cc The fogs are dispersing , » replied 
 "VVilloughLy; and you will soon see the 
 smoke of the hamlet under the brow 
 of yonder wood ! » — Raleigh s coun- 
 tenance revived : for he had looked 
 pale and exhausted. 
 
When they reached Willoughby's 
 abode, his visitor, after a slight refresh- 
 ment, surrendered himself to a profound 
 sleep of several hours. Meantime the 
 mind of Willoughby was perplexed by- 
 conjectures . He was irritated, chagrined, 
 and overcome with gloom at this in- 
 trusion. It had followed a most feve- 
 rish, and presageful night. He said to 
 himself: « here/ is an end of my dream 
 of rural obscurity and safety! I had 
 better commit myself to the mercy of 
 the tide; and let it carry me where 
 it will! » 
 
 Raleigh waked. It was an anxious 
 day: the conversation was guarded on 
 both sides. Ptileigh's aifected ease; his 
 praises of the quiet around him; his 
 equivocal commendations of Willough- 
 by's taste for solitude ', his dark and 
 
 10 
 
ii 8 
 intricate and profoundly -laboured ar- 
 gumeatSj all betrayed that something 
 was behind, different from that which 
 was upon the surface. 
 
 Lord Cobham had a brother, engaged 
 in the same politics with himself. 
 Willoughby had always avoided him. 
 Of this man Raleigh now talked with 
 •o much earnesiuess; and so many com- 
 mendations} that the other suspected lie 
 had some purpose in this attempt to 
 alter his opinion of him . 
 
 It was impossible for a man of vi- 
 gorous ability to be long in Raleigh's 
 company without being charmed; even 
 • gainst his will. His views were so 
 grand; his knowle^e so -extensive and 
 so rej'dy; his decisions so acute and 
 so firm ; his language so striking, and so 
 original; and his illustrations so happy, 
 
21 9 
 that be kept the attention chained; 
 
 and while he gave every faculty its 
 share of employ, allowed the listener 
 no leisure to recover from the repe* 
 tit : on of their efforts. 
 
 There were in the Court at this time 
 certain mysterious movements , that 
 kept Salisbury in the most painful 
 anxiety . The Catholics were grievously 
 disappointed at the System adopted by 
 the new Monarch. His pusillanimity, 
 which had separately given encoura- 
 gement to every Faction, had raised 
 the hopes of this powerful Body to a 
 fearful height . The plot, which wns 
 to hive exploded under the conduct 
 of (juy Fawkes, was extensively spread ; 
 anl ninny families in the country, of 
 no mean quality, were supposed to be 
 counccted with it. 
 
»20 
 
 Raleigh seemed anxious to dwell 
 upon the working of these dangerous 
 elements; and sometimes entered into 
 details which Willoughby was little 
 desirous to hear. In the evening, ex- 
 hausted at last with the tale of a suc- 
 cession of intrigues far beyond even 
 what he had ever hitherto suspected, 
 he said fretfully : « if I could before 
 waver in my resolution of retirement, 
 all I have now heard would irrevocably 
 confirm me ! ,, — 
 
 Raleigh perceived that he had gone 
 too far. But this was not the time to 
 redeem it. Rest w r as necessary for both ; 
 and they retired to their beds . 
 
 In the morning Raleigh took ad- 
 vantage of Willoughby's want of an 
 horse; and rode out by himself, under 
 pretence of exploring the country : He 
 
221 
 
 was absent till twilight ; and on his 
 return pretended that he had again mis- 
 taken his road. There was however so 
 much self-complacence in his manner, 
 that his host was sure something had 
 occurred, which had giveu him satis- 
 faction . There is a fever in minds ac- 
 customed to action beyond the middlft 
 age, which cannot be allayed . Rest is 
 death to them; they require violence 
 of motion; or they stop . 
 
 No two men of talent well -inclined 
 to each other could have carried on 
 conversations more uneasy and oblique 
 than those, which now took place bet- 
 ween the host and his guest for the 
 remainder of this , and the following 
 day. Each would have penetrated into 
 the other's purposes , if he could . 
 Willoughby had not a clue to what 
 
222 
 
 Raleigh was about . In th's solitary 
 spot he saw no path for the intrigues 
 of ambition . He believed that Raleigh's 
 pastoral taste had ceased with his 
 youth! — 
 
 Raleigh enquired with some cusiosi- 
 ty about his neighbours. He seemed 
 incredulous when the other assured 
 Itim, that he knew of none : and smiled, 
 as if with a doubting contempt, wheu 
 he added that such know lege would 
 have been no recommendation to his 
 choice . 
 
 On all subjects of active life Will- 
 oughby expressed his abhorrence la 
 terms so resolute, that the othor, as 
 often as he touched on the subject , 
 ^vw necessitated again to abandon it . 
 
 On the fourth day Raleigh departed; 
 apparently as little himself satisfied as 
 
aa3 
 
 he left his host . Willoughby now gave 
 himself up to the most anxious mus- 
 ings. He lamented that he had ever 
 been acquainted with Raleigh . All his 
 resolutions for the plans of his future 
 life, to which he had brought him- 
 self peacefully and convincingly, after 
 many temporary doubts and scrup- 
 les, were di.turbed. To continue this 
 retirement without enjoying the good 
 of it, was quite folly . If he could not 
 be secure from iostrusions of this sort, 
 he failed in his first object . 
 
 Solitude is only good, when it eau 
 enable us to forget the world, and its 
 passions. This perpetual irritation; this 
 constant re- opening of the wound, at 
 the moment it is healed, is of all things 
 the most provoking. 
 
 While he reflected upon Raleigh's 
 
224 
 
 undiminished ambition , he wondered 
 that the vanity of the objects, for which 
 he was sacrificing so much, never seem- 
 ed to occur to him. He thought, as 
 Gray afterwards thought : 
 
 « "What is Grandeur; what is Power? 
 Heavier toil; superior pain! 
 What the bright reward we gain? 
 The grateful memory of the good. » 
 
 Then how can Power bought at the 
 expence of couscieuce recom pence the 
 price? 
 
 His musings on the propensities and 
 destinies of human nature were now 
 both intense and painful. If he had 
 wanted other proof that this state of 
 existence is but a part of our Being, 
 he would have derived it from the 
 inequality of our endowments corporeal 
 
22J> 
 
 and mental, and the Inequality of the 
 dispensation of good and evil with, 
 reference to the good or evil of our 
 conduct. He might have his frailties: 
 he was aware that dark thoughts and 
 dark passions sometimes crossed his 
 brain, and his heart. But without con- 
 ceit or arrogance he ^ould not but be 
 conscious, that, taking the whole tenor 
 of his life, even from childhood , he 
 had been mainly directed by the most 
 noble impulses, and most virtuous af- 
 fections: that his fault, as far the world 
 was concerned;, lay in dreams of im- 
 possible goodness: that he had a poet's 
 visions in all his hopes,- and a poet's fancy 
 in all his thoughts of others: that while 
 others dissuised the secret movements of 
 their bosoms by false representations of 
 virtue and refinement which they felt not, 
 
226 
 
 lie, to avoid ridicule, concealed tlie 
 pure and sublime and generous emo- 
 tions, which overflowed in his heart. 
 
 In addition to other arguments in 
 favour of the Solitude he had now 
 embraced , he had had sufficient ex- 
 perience to be convinced, that all the 
 pleasures of an Human Being, endowed 
 with the higher order of talents, lie in 
 speculation. It is the spiritual part of 
 his nature alone , which is capable of 
 satisfactory enjoyment. It is the hope; 
 and the retrospect . The moment of 
 possession is vanity. 
 
 « The common air , the sUn ; the 
 skies: » those prospects of the material 
 world, that delight our senses, in what 
 is their prime j>y but in the move- 
 »ipnts of the mind which they set to 
 play ? in the ideal goodness, which we 
 
227 
 
 associate with -what we see ? in the 
 imaginary creation, which we add to 
 what we behold and feel? 
 
 It is the poet then, who does the 
 most for himself j and the most foe 
 others. « Shall I» said "Willoughby, 
 « desert the office of a Poet, if the 
 gifts of my birth have enabled me to 
 fulfill it? Visions cross me day and 
 night! beautiful and, sublime images 
 flit across my brain! Can 1 forgive 
 myself for letting them pass for ever 
 unpursued? they reproach me! they 
 beckon to me! they cry, « vvill you 
 not hear our songs? will you not no- 
 tice our forms? will you prefer the 
 coarse conversation ot mere mortal tur- 
 pitude? ft — They promise to light me 
 to a temple , where Humanity shall 
 put on a ray of glory ! where my sight^ 
 
228 
 
 cleared of its dim obstructions, shall 
 behold the elevated heart in the bea- 
 titude of celestial movements! where its 
 momentary hues of brightness, its tran- 
 sient anticipations of immortality, shall 
 be viewed as in a glass! 
 
 <c It is an habitual emancipation from 
 worldly desires, which alone can purify 
 us for the heights of this employment: 
 Rapid as the change in the shapes and 
 colours of the clouds ; quick as the 
 passage of lightning through the re- 
 closing darkness of night, are those nice 
 shades of moral distinction, or spiritual 
 shapes, with which the attention of the 
 true poet is occupied. They elude 
 the groveling heart, and the thought 
 that is weighed down by too much 
 earthly dross. 
 
 « Raleigh has clogged himself with 
 
22g 
 mortal passions, and desires : and he no 
 longer has the power to be a Poet . 
 He is a man of business: a man of 
 business cannot be a Poet ! 33 
 
 He wearied himself with these in- 
 ternal discussions. They sometimes fill 
 the mind with interest and pleasure: 
 but they often oppress it. There is 
 — u a taedium of o : erlaboured thought, » 
 which is followed by long hours of 
 languor and debility. There were :oo 
 many minutes even in this state of 
 calm, in which he almost felt tired 
 of existence. Experience had given 
 him but a comfortless view of our 
 sojourn on this globe . Of all the causes 
 of despondence to which we are exposed 
 here, scarcely any, if any, are so painful^ 
 as a loss of confidence in the virtue 
 of mankind . Doubt, anxiety, watchful- 
 
230 
 
 liess follow even the charms of ideal 
 visious, and fancied excellences are di- 
 minished! and unless we can beleive 
 the virtue, which our imagination pre- 
 sents to us, possible , our interest in 
 it is greatly chilled. 
 
 He had drawn the outline of his 
 Poem before Raleigh's visit. He would 
 now have resumed it: but his spirits 
 flagged; and he was almost inclined 
 to commit it to the flames. 
 
 The name of this poem was Al- 
 theadora. A nation, being sunk hy a 
 bad choice of a Sovereign into cor- 
 ruption, vice, and pusillanimity, at a 
 period coeval with that of the early 
 Britons, the wise men on consultation 
 refer to the Oracles, who foretell that 
 ere long a Female shall be born, who 
 after a childhood of privacy , shall 
 
a3i 
 
 grow up with all imaginable charm? 
 of mind, heart, and person; and shall, 
 if properly applied to, be ready to win 
 and ascend the throne; restore the na- 
 tional manners, and character; and place 
 the realm on the pinnacle of glory . 
 
 The whole noble youth of the 
 country, burning with ambition to ob- 
 tain her favour, are stimulated by their 
 admiration and love to the noblest 
 achievements of prowess and genero- 
 sity . The vicious Tyrant, whom she 
 has dethroned, is executed amid the 
 scorn, and insults, of a people sensible 
 of their late degradation , and glorying 
 in their new Sovereign . 
 
 The plan of it had this advantage 
 over Spenser's Poem, that its Allego- 
 ries were only occasional. "VVilloughby 
 had always studied with intense admi- 
 
232 
 
 ration Sackville's Induction and Le- 
 gend of the Duke of Buckingham; and 
 caught more of his sombre manner , 
 than of the easier and more diffused 
 brilliance of the Fairy Queen • The 
 colours of his own life broke out 
 very visibly in many of the Fragments 
 of the poem, which he had yet written,. 
 As Dissimulation , and low Cunning , 
 and crooked paths of policy^ were most 
 abhorrent to the soul of the author, 
 so the expression of these disgusts most 
 constantly broke out in the characters 
 he had hitherto drawn . 
 
 He laboured the character of Al- 
 theadora with the most brilliant co- 
 lours. She was constantly opposed to 
 the portrait of her predecessor, who 
 Was delineated as a pusillanimous monst~ 
 er, subtle, cruel, a dissolute hypocrite, 
 
233 
 
 desirous of guiding all by his owq will 
 and caprice: yet at the mercy of a 
 dissembling, bad Minister, more able, 
 more wicked, more cruel than himself ! 
 
 The prose materials for this poem 
 had already filled a large MS. but 
 they were not digested into any order: 
 and they were strangely mixed with 
 matter, which had arisen from other 
 inquiries , and was intended for the 
 subject of other productions. In truth 
 every thing was confounded, just in 
 the disjointed state , in which it had 
 risen id the writer's mind . Many of 
 the hints for the memoirs of his Own 
 Time were inserted in this common- 
 place Book . A few of the remarks on 
 his cotemporaries were unquestionably 
 ■very severe ! 
 
 Willoughby had one of the kin- 
 
a34 
 dest hearts: but his speculations on 
 mankind were very bitter! It was, I think, 
 said of the gay Earl of Dorset of 
 Charles the Second's days , by Pope, 
 that he was 
 
 The best good man with the worst-natured Muse. 
 But Lord Dorset was a Satirist. 
 "Willoughby did not deal in Satirical 
 composition . He deemed Satire a lower 
 species ef poetry, unbecoming a mind 
 of ardent fancy . It was to reverse the 
 prime traits, on which the excellence 
 of poetry ought to depend. 
 
 In the course of a week his calm had 
 in some degree returned . He look his 
 long daily rambles: be became acqua- 
 inted 
 
 With every alhy green, and hosty bourn: 
 and as the nearer scenes became fami- 
 liar, he roved fariher ; and found his 
 
235 
 strength, and power of exercise, increase 
 "with \vs furiosity . 
 
 He had got beyond the limits of the 
 farthest stroll he had hitherto taken, 
 ■when he reached, one morning, a hill 
 thnt. opened a new view of a rich 
 and extensive country upon him. Down 
 in the valley at the distance of two or 
 three miles, he observed a considerable 
 mansion embosomed in trees, that from 
 its beautiful situation attracted his pe- 
 culiar notice. He had not long kept his 
 vyes upon it, when with his glass he 
 imagined that he saw the figures of 
 persons on horseback issuing from it . 
 An open plain lay on the bed of the 
 valley, more than a mile on the 
 hither side of the mansion. In a little 
 while he discerned these persons ad- 
 vancing at a gallop cross the plaia. 
 
236 
 
 He remained upon the spot: the sun 
 was warmj yet the air was refreshing. 
 He soon heard the steps of horses 
 ascending the hill. As they came nearer, 
 he percieved them to be two ladies 
 with their attendants. They reached 
 the spot, where he was seated . The 
 foremost lady stopped her horse; and 
 threw back her veil, « Sir Ralph Wil- 
 loughby ! » she cried : « oh, Sir Ralph 
 Willoughby ! — how came you here ? » 
 It was Lady Arabella Stuart ! Her 
 courteous and winning address j her 
 gentle smiles; her soft voice, delighted 
 Willoughby . He returned her saluta- 
 tion with respectful ardor of civility. 
 They conversed for a quarter of an 
 hour . She made him promise to visit 
 her the next day at the mansion in 
 l he Valley , where she had been re - 
 
23? 
 
 sident for more than a month with a 
 Branch of the Cavendish family. 
 
 Willoughby, while returning home 
 with slow and thoughtful footsteps , 
 ruminated anxiously on this occurrence . 
 He was impatient for the hour, that 
 w r ould again bring him into Arabella's 
 company . 
 
 The hour came . He rose early; took 
 his walk in the freshness of the morn- 
 ing; and reached the house in time 
 to find Lady Arabella alone in the 
 garden, before the rest of the family 
 had quitted their chambers k The first 
 enquiry she made was, « if he had 
 seen Sir Walter Raleigh ? » He told 
 her; tbat he had lately received a visit 
 from him . « I have seen him also ! » 
 she answered : « but he did not tell 
 me , whence he came ! » There was 
 
a33 
 something mysterious in this ; anil 
 one of the purpo-.es of Raleigh's \isit 
 to him was now apparent. 
 
 Lady Arabella told him, that this 
 interview with the great man had sur- 
 prized her. It was a visit of ceremony; 
 the conversations were general; but yet 
 she thought she perceived an inclina- 
 tion to political topics, to which she 
 gave no encouragement. She said, she 
 had no desire to enter into State or 
 Court cabals : she desired only tran- 
 quillity, and a private life. But Ra- 
 leigh smiled sometimes at some of her 
 expressions; and she was afraid, that 
 he had more than once misunderstood 
 her. « This extraordinary Man, » con- 
 tinued she, « always keeps me in a sort 
 of awe: I cannot be at my ease with 
 him : I always suspect, that « more is 
 
15 meant than meets the ear, it is 
 quite different with you , SirTRalpJi . 
 I always am sure of what you lot -r/d 
 to express. I chu follow your opi- 
 nions; and eompn hend your reasons. 
 You have the art of convincing me: 
 and I patt from you, not only pleased 
 with your frarkmss; but better satis- 
 fied with myself! » — 
 
 WiHoiigbby could not but be af- 
 fected by this compliment, uttered with 
 a winning simplicity and condescension . 
 IN or did lie think it on the present 
 occasion ill-placed. He susperted, that 
 she had good reason for her incom- 
 prehensibility with regard to Raleigh ; 
 He wis at least equally impressed 
 with the fear that something dark was 
 brooding behind the curtain of thii 
 celebrated Politician's mi ad . He deeply 
 
regretted any attempt to involve this 
 innoeent, guileless, and peaceful Princess 
 in the detestable intrigues and restless 
 dangers, of State-affairs. It had always 
 appeared to his sentiments a defect in 
 Raleish's moral character, not slight, 
 that, when he hwl objects warmly in 
 view, he had too little consideration 
 for the fate of those , whom he in- 
 volved in his schemes. 
 
 On the present occasion it behoved 
 him, however forcibly suspicions flashed 
 upon his mind, to be circumspect and 
 considerate before he uttered them . The 
 charge was grave: he yet had a friendship 
 for Raleigh, and a preponderant admi- 
 ration of him, which would not allow 
 him to utter such a conjecture in 
 haste . 
 - It occurred to him to endeavour to 
 
24 I 
 
 caution Lady Arabella without com- 
 mitting Raleigh. He told her, that men 
 like Raleigh, who had led a life of 
 perpetual motion, liked to know every 
 body , and to be every where: that 
 when they had long been engaged in the 
 secrets of politics , they contracted 
 habits of mystery, which they exhibit- 
 ed on all occasions; sometimes with- 
 out meaning; and often without being 
 aware of it. u But « he added, « this 
 mysterious manner is sometimes not 
 on that account less dangerous to tho.c?, 
 to whom it is practised. There are 
 high situations, where the only safety 
 consists in keeping entirely aloof from 
 those engaged in public life. Inter- 
 views are always liable to miscontruc- 
 tions. Walls can hear: — ah, and 
 speak! — and invent too ! — The sim- 
 
 ll 
 
^$2 
 
 plest , and most innocent words are 
 capable of two meanings! If Sir Walte* 
 Raleigh's habitual manner is enigma- 
 tical, how much is the danger aggra- 
 vated in such a case ! » — 
 
 Lady Arabella answered r « you con- 
 firm the dread, which had seized me ! 
 I sat on thorns during all RJeiglrs 
 "visit. Pure as I was from the r«>ost 
 remote thought of any political intrigue, 
 I knew that I was liable to the sus- 
 picions of the very servants of the 
 house. Sip Walter Raleigh is a man 
 of so very singular a countenance: his 
 whole person is so striking; and his 
 Dame is so much the subject of every 
 one's tongue, that I could not doubt 
 that his visit wonld form matter of 
 conversation for all the household Bnt 
 what could I Jo ? I could not aflVout 
 
1\$ 
 
 him. He atterecK not a word, to which 
 
 ] CO did object! JJ — ■ 
 
 c f I admit, » replied Willooghby, 
 
 « that the difficulties were exactly such 
 as you describe ! I think therefore, if 
 1 may presume to blame him , that 
 mv great friend's visit was injudicious. 
 I am not certain, Lady Arabella, that 
 even so humble a person as I am, may 
 not do vou mischief by this inter- 
 view I » — cc Oh, you will not desert 
 me, Sir Ralph! » she cried eagerly.* 
 cc vou have a defence in your open 
 countenance ! ill the noble manner, in 
 which all the world says , that y^u 
 have declined the paths of ambition ! » 
 Willoughhy sighed. « Excellent Prin- 
 cess! « he answered — ( « forgive me 
 for this presumptuous expression!) — 
 your goodness thinks too highly of 
 
2 44 
 
 mankind ! I have indeed most sincerely 
 declined the odious paths of ambition; 
 but there are too many, who will not 
 believe me ! Iudging by their own in- 
 corrigibly—sophisticated hearts , they 
 cannot suppose it possible that another 
 should be actuated by simple and vir- 
 tuous inclinations f They believe that 
 my retreat is only some scheme of dis- 
 guise; some plan for the purpose of 
 carrying on secret innneuvres. Unfortu- 
 nately Raleigh's visit to me, as well as 
 to you, will confirm this suspicion . 
 And it is on this account that my fears 
 anticipate some imprudence even from 
 our present conversation . » — « Oh 
 that 1 had not been born to this pro- 
 voking and vain station ! » exclaimed 
 Lady Arabella. « Can I not have a 
 kind adviser/* Ls there danger in the 
 
245 
 
 most virtuous conversations? Is the very 
 consultation how to avoid offence an 
 offence itself? » 
 
 What could Willoughby say ? He 
 felt the extreme hardship of her si- 
 tuation ; and almost forgot his own in 
 sympathy for hers. But delusion at 
 the present moment would probably 
 be eventual cruelty . It became ne- 
 cessary that she should be fully sen- 
 sible in how critical and painful a 
 condition she was placed . Raleigh, 
 might visit her again : some of Ra- 
 le'gh's most known and active adherents 
 might visit her. He had, for Raleigh's 
 sake, treated the former visit as import- 
 ing nothing : he did not believe so ! — He 
 even doubted, if Raleigh did not sup- 
 pose that he had succeeded in his 
 object : but from Lady Arabella's con- 
 
a46 
 versation he now learned , that this 
 penetrating Statesman must have gross- 
 ly misconstrued any words, which seem- 
 ed to give any remote or possible 
 assent to any concurrence with him 
 in any public matter whatever! 
 
 Of all the paiuful impressions which 
 disturb the course of content with onr 
 existence here, one of the most comfort- 
 less is, as I have observed, a loss, or great 
 diminution, of the confidence in the 
 virtue and kindness of our fellow-beings! 
 If we suspect that all is disguise and 
 d»?ceilj that all professions are empty; 
 that each is playing his own separate 
 gatnt-f and that there is a heartless 
 disregard to all but selfish gratification, 
 no moment is safe, but that which 
 is employed in the most anxious 
 watchfulness for* personal and indivi- 
 
*4? 
 
 dual interest or defence. Language 
 and sentiments, in themselves the most 
 delightful, become detestable and abhor- 
 rent as signs of intended delusion . 
 That, which we have been accustom- 
 ed to consider as a proof of intellec- 
 tual preeminence, becomes a proof of 
 stultification: and talents, which are 
 employed in intellectual pursuits ab- 
 stracted from Self, are only praised , 
 that they may continue to be led as- 
 tray ! 
 
 "When we see every thing go wrong; 
 when we observe the success of de- 
 ception and fraud ; when we have proof 
 that innocence cannot secure safety; 
 when we examine the characters of 
 those , who have become prosperous ia 
 the world ; and the mode by which 
 they have become prosperous, we can- 
 
a4§ 
 not without great difficulty exclude, 
 
 or weaken , this comfortless impression . 
 Lady Arabella deserved to be happy: 
 but all her virtues increased her dan- 
 gers, and her chances of ill success, 
 and misfortune in the world . It is true, 
 that the road to final happiness may 
 be through the defiles of Misery: but 
 what perils lurk in the way? Who is 
 sure that he will have fortitude, or 
 firmness, to withstand the temptations 
 to wrong created by threats, pain, 
 privation, calumny, persecution? Who 
 is sure that he will be patient under 
 insult; forbearing and cheerful uuder 
 want; and kind, tender, and forgiv 
 iug under oppression and ingratitude? 
 He would have given her with the 
 purest sincerity advice how to conduct 
 herself with the most prudence, if his 
 
a49 
 ingenuity could have furnished him 
 
 with the clearest mode: but he was 
 bewildered by the opinions, which were 
 conflicting in his mind . Perhaps, had 
 Lady Arabella been entire mistress of 
 her own actions , he would have seen 
 a simple plan, which, though it could 
 not have secured her inoffensive passage 
 through life, yet would at least hare 
 had the satisfaction and glory of unim- 
 peachable rectitude I But she was not 
 the mistress of her own actions . She 
 had not only the judgements and pas- 
 sions of the Shrewburys and Caven- 
 dishes to deal with ; but she had her 
 own heart to regulate with regard to 
 the approaches of the Seymours. This 
 last alone was likely to form a source 
 of suspicion not to be allayed 
 "Willoughby was not aware. Lady 
 
2 f>0 
 
 Arabella could still less suppose, that 
 another suspicion had already enter- 
 ed the heads of Salisbury and his 
 divan : and that they believed that 
 Willoughby himself was mad enough 
 to aspire to the hand of this Princ- 
 ess. They well knew his retreat; 
 and they were equally acquainted 
 with Raleigh's visit to both . Even 
 the Seymours heard of the place of 
 Willoughby's retirement $ and grew 
 jealous . Though desperate in fortune, 
 he was of four-fuld older nobility than 
 the Seymours: and in intellect and 
 acquirements still more their super- 
 ior ! — 
 
 Salisbury well knew the advantage 
 of all this ; though he affected to des- 
 pise it: and in truth, it must be con- 
 fessed , that, if Willoughby had been 
 
a5i 
 inclined, a little assiduity and a little 
 management might ha-ve enabled him 
 to detach the Lady's inclinations from 
 the present favourite. 
 
 Willoughby was more anxious to 
 end the visit for her sake, than for 
 his own . He was too familiar with 
 the present state of Court espionage, 
 not to have a dread of the evils of 
 prolonged interviews of this kind. He 
 rose to take his leave. Lady Arabella 
 gave him her hand ; and he kissed it . 
 She dropped a tear, when he quit- 
 ed her j and intreated him to pay her 
 another visit. 
 
 When he reached home, he found 
 on his table a long letter from R.a- 
 leigh , who had returned to the Court. 
 It gave a lull description to him of 
 what was going on; and was written 
 
25a 
 in the strongest vigour of bursting in- 
 dignation . All the bitterness of his 
 acute talents was applied to the de- 
 velopment of most of the characters 
 now in possession of Power. There 
 was no need to write their names over 
 them : the features were sufficiently 
 prominent to mark them out. But 
 Raleigh added a short allegory 5 or 
 Fiction, which was so obscure , that 
 Sir Ralph in vain attempted to make 
 out its import. He wrote down iu 
 his Common-place book the names 
 and enigmatical words; and put against 
 them gnesses of explanation to assist 
 him in decyphering the secret. He 
 would not have taken so much pains, 
 but that he suspected there was some 
 allusion to Lady Arabella; and he feU 
 so interested about her, that he would 
 
a53 
 
 have spared no labour, by which he 
 might get at intelligence to guard her 
 against the snares he suspected were 
 preparing for her. He knew too well 
 she was no match for Raleigh in talents, 
 experience, or temper. 
 
 A fortnight passed in these anxieties. 
 He mused,- and read; and rambled in 
 the fields and woods. Lady Arabella 
 wrote to him, that she had had very 
 angry letters from the Court; and that 
 the Cavendishes, with whom she was 
 living, had altered their whole conduct 
 to her; and had become excessively 
 harsh; and when she complained, hinted 
 that they were acting under orders , 
 which they dared not disobey . She 
 intreated him to come to her; but 
 said, that he must do it secretly. 
 
 This necessity of secrecy made him. 
 
!i54 
 for her sake, as well as his own, resolve 
 
 to refrain from the visit. He wrote a very 
 cautious , but gentle and kind answer ; 
 in which he intreated her to be patient , 
 reserved , solitary , and as far from the 
 most remote appearance of any concern 
 with public affiiirs of any kind as he well 
 knew that she was from the reality. It 
 was utterly impossible to write such a 
 letter without inserting some allusions 
 purposely vague. This arose principally 
 from a desire to guard her against Raleigh; 
 whom yet it would have been an indeli- 
 cacy, and perhaps a breach of friendship, 
 to name. 
 
 In a few days from this lime a letter 
 was brought him, in the hand of an 
 acquaintance, with whom he had been 
 familiar in Burleigh's office, which filled 
 
s55 
 him "With astonishment and horror. It re- 
 lated that Raleigh, Cobham, Grey of 
 Wilton, etc. and their accomplices, had 
 been committed to the Tower for High 
 Treason. The conjectures regarding the 
 nature of the Plot were endless. One of 
 the reports was, that it concerned to mo- 
 vements made for the purpose of putting 
 Lady Arabella upon the throne. 
 
 This was in every respect a shock to 
 "Willoughby , to which at first all his 
 fortitude gave way. He saw in it a com- 
 plication of dangers and evils , which 
 reflection did not diminish! 
 
 One of the first suggestions of his 
 heart was to pay a visit to Raleigh 
 in the Tower. But many objections 
 occurred before he could put this 
 into execution. He had several letters 
 from friends j some real, some perhaps 
 
a56 
 only calling themselves by that sacred 
 name, warning and imploring him to 
 weigh with the utmost prudence every 
 step he took; to suffer no generous ebul- 
 lition of indignant courage to lead him 
 into useless appearances of any privity 
 with those implicated in the present 
 charges; and to hint that his ruin was 
 meditated, if the slightest opportunity 
 was given . 
 
 All tin's intelligence agreed minutely 
 with his own suspicions. He had already 
 seen the danger, that might hereafter 
 arise from his accidental interviews with 
 Lady Arabella ; and from the moment he 
 first encountered Raleigh , when he ca- 
 me to visit him in his retreat , he anti- 
 cipated gloom and evil from it. 
 
 His prudence for once prevailed ; and 
 he went not at present to the Tower. 
 
257 
 He yielded to Lady Arabella's intreaties; 
 and paid her one \isit. She was in a per* 
 feet maze ; she wept incessantly ; and 
 her senses seemed a little flighty. No- 
 thing could be more evident to "\\ illou- 
 ghby's acute understanding , than that 
 nothing had passed between Raleigh and 
 Her, of the treasonable scheme of which, 
 he was accused. But she lamented in 
 bitter words, that with whatever entire 
 freedom from all political intrigue and 
 all desire of public life she acted , her 
 name was always involved in some pe- 
 rilous matter; that it was bandied about 
 to serve the ambition and plots of 
 others: and that she suiiered all the 
 evils of ambitions , without its good ; 
 and all the privations of solitude, with- 
 out its tranquillity. 
 
 What comfort had Willoughby to 
 
2^58 
 give her? He felt too strongly, that 
 these remarks were well founded. No 
 light penetrated his own bosom ; it 
 was all unbroken despondence! A State- 
 system had been adopted , which scar- 
 cely left the possibility of escape to 
 those, whom the directors of Power 
 were desirous to sacrifice. The horrid 
 thought crossed him , that it was inten- 
 ded to sacrifice the life of Lady Ara- 
 bella. He guessed not why. If it was 
 the iutention to sacrifice Raleigh , he 
 less wandered at it. 
 
 « Your spirit is fled, Sir Ralph Wil- 
 loughby " cried Lady Arabella: « your 
 resources fail, when I had expected to 
 have found a sure anchor in your ad- 
 vice! " All that Willoughby could an- 
 swer was : « Deserve well , Lady Ara- 
 bella ! Keep your conscience ; and your 
 
2 : JC) 
 
 actions clear, as vou have hitherto done! 
 The rest is in the hands of Providence! » 
 
 He returned to his solitary cottage. 
 It is perhaps only in the deepest grief 
 that solitude is dangerous. Profound 
 anxiety , and a kind of feverish Des- 
 pondence, preyed upon his mind. Hither- 
 to all had cone \vr0n2: with him through 
 life. He entered into a severe self-exa- 
 mination. He could not charge himself 
 with any great faults; nor with any 
 very obvious errors. He had endeavou- 
 red to act uprightly, honourably , and 
 generously. He had always on his con- 
 science, and in his heart, the remem- 
 brance of the most perfect and the most 
 comprehensive of all moral duties: the 
 rule of Doing, as he would be done by. 
 
 H ; s sagacity forced upon him that , 
 of which the conviction suak his bosom 
 
into the most oppressive melancholy , 
 that the most virtuous part ofh is con 
 duct had been most in the way of his 
 success in the world. It is to say one 
 thing, when you mean another; to ap- 
 pear most pleased , when you are most 
 angry : to speak but kindly , when you 
 mean to commit the greatest injury; to ap- 
 pear to pay deference to the opinions of 
 others, yet secretly to defeat them all you 
 can; to betray and take advantage of the 
 knowlegeyon thus derive: on all occasions 
 to wear a mask:onno occasion to postpone 
 self-interest to any other object! 
 
 These are frightful assertions; but $ 
 alas, they are frightful truths! If they 
 seem to impeach the ways of Provi- 
 dence , it must be recollected , that the 
 ways of Providence are mysterious and 
 hidden to Man's finite capacity ! 
 
%6i 
 Vnth these Convictions han£rin& with 
 the weight of death upon his energies, 
 he made e\ery effort to summon up 
 his magnanimity. He still persevered 
 in Lis literary occupations . But his 
 fancy of course took a still more sombre 
 cast. He attempted to raise himself 
 above all sublunary anxieties, and af- 
 fections. This g?ve an extraordinary 
 sublimity to some of his Fragments: 
 but it also gave them sometimes a 
 great obsrurity. They became too 
 much detached from human interests; 
 and travelled among the clouds with 
 too spiritual and evanescent an am- 
 bition . 
 
 Cobbans wrote him a letter, break- 
 ing out into all the waitings of an ab- 
 ject heart ; mixed up with passages 
 of cunning and subtlety, which added 
 
262 
 
 to Ins pain in reading it . Cobhani 
 had mistaken his point : it was in- 
 tended to convince Wi Hough by of his 
 entire innocence : it had the effect of 
 making him suspert, that there really 
 had been some tampering somewhere . 
 The young Lord Grey of Wilton 
 also wrote him a letter, which made 
 a very different impression on his feel- 
 ings . This unfortunate youth recurred 
 to the conversations with him in 
 Which wood Forest. He lamented that 
 be had not been practically a better 
 convert to Willoughby'a opinions : that 
 he had not withdrawn himself from 
 the world; and relied upon the plea- 
 sures of nature ; and the tranquillity 
 of a private life. His youth ; some 
 excellent traits in his character^ and 
 the antiquity and lu»tre of the family 
 
a63 
 which Lord Grey represented , made 
 \A il lough by deeply sympathise with 
 his present ill fortune . 
 
 Reflection could, alas, give little 
 satisfaction to him on this painful 
 subject. All was dark and perple j l 
 in his conjectures. He had no doubt 
 that the charges were false in the 
 extent to which public report carried 
 them: but his private suspicions that 
 Raleigh had been carrying, on something 
 of which advantage could be taken, were 
 \ery harassing to him . He was sure that 
 no power, which Salisbury could acqu're 
 over him, would be lost; and there 
 was a hollow iniquity in the Times, 
 which rendered all uncertain ; and a 
 trust even in innocence but a frail 
 anchor . 
 
 The anxious period » that interven- 
 
£64 
 
 ed till the Trial of these accused Po- 
 liticians, preyed upon Willoughby's 
 mind ; wore his health; and interrupted 
 all t-he occupations that could enliven 
 or soothe solitude. 
 
 The time of Trial at length came: 
 every cultivated English reader is fa- 
 miliar with that Trial. Raleigh too 
 inconsiderately summoned Willoughby 
 as a witness, to prove certain alibis . 
 In his eagerness for self-liberation, he 
 pressed certain questions, which appear- 
 ed to Willoughby entirely superfluous; 
 while they seemed to raise an infer- 
 ence that he was in the confidence 
 of the other to an extent that was 
 utterly untrue . 
 
 Willoughby caught the eye of Sa- 
 lisbury; and saw how deeply this 
 struck him . Salisbury now seemed 
 
265 
 inclined to press hard questions upon 
 WillonghW : Raleigh fired: he saw 
 the imprudence he had committed ; 
 and endeavoured to redeemit by another 
 yet more inconsiderate . He seemed to 
 be leading to an examination of the 
 history of Willoughby's life , by way 
 of proving that he had been of an 
 opposite Faction: and therefore that 
 if lie had had any treasonable schemes 
 in ngication, \\ illougtiby conld never 
 have been chosen as his confidante! 
 He alluded to Essex : he put a ques- 
 tion . that seemed to touch on the 
 circumstances of his death ! Salisbury 
 turned so pale , and trembled so. that 
 his emotion was visible to many spec- 
 tators . 
 
 When W illoughby's examination 
 ceased, there was a buzz through the 
 
 12 
 
•z66 
 Court . The audience were inclined 
 to receive him with a shout of ap- 
 plause, if they had dared. A. murmur 
 ran through the Court : « what a gal- 
 lant spirit! what a noble form! what 
 talents and expression ! how conside- 
 rate ! how firm, and undaunted ! how 
 worthy of his friend Raleigh's best 
 genius ! but how much gentler, and 
 kinder, arid mellower, in his looks and 
 his thoughts ! » 
 
 The murmur passed the walls of 
 the Court. As he came into the open 
 air , tbe crowd shouted : <c Long live 
 Willoughby ! long live the generous 
 Willoughby! » — 
 
 Alas, these applauses cheered not 
 Willoughby's heart ! they sunk upon 
 it, as the prelude of death! He knew 
 how much they would prejudice him 
 
267 
 in the minds not merely of the Ju- 
 dicial Tribunal , but of those , who 
 held the helm of State ! Salisbury, he 
 was sure, had now at leasf , if not 
 before, become his irreconcilable foe ! 
 It was obvious that not only this Mi- 
 nister, but all his colleagues present, 
 were convinced that he was a full ac- 
 complice in all Raleigh's schemes , 
 whatever they were . 
 
 At leneth the Trial elosed . Raleigh, 
 and his companions, were found guilty. 
 "Who has not heard , what was the 
 impression, which this trial made on, 
 the public opinion? « Raleigh » it is 
 said by historians, « went into Court 
 the most hated man in England ! He 
 came out of it the most applauded 
 and glorious! — His mighty spirit; his 
 powerful talents; his self-possession; 
 
the constant ingenuity and readiness of 
 his answers; contrasted with the un- 
 just and brutal mode , in which the 
 prosecutors and the Court conducted 
 themselves, all contributed to produce 
 this effect ! 
 
 Willoughhy returned to his cottage, 
 to meditate on what had passed . — 
 "What was meditation on this subject 
 but madness? We may flatter oursel- 
 ves, as we will: but the incumbency 
 of immediate danger sheds a bitter into 
 the cup even of the most innocent 
 and exquisite enjoyments ! When the 
 breath of Heaven blew upon him in 
 all its freshness; when the Sun smiled; 
 and the flowers emitted their fragrance; 
 he said , « how long shall I possess 
 these blessings!' Raleigh is debarred of 
 them : Cobharn, and young Grey are 
 
9.6 9 
 debarred of them ! I hive not been 
 of their factions : but, alas, innocence 
 will not protect me ! » — 
 
 When be resorted to those crea- 
 tions, in which a sublime and pathe- 
 tic fancy finds vent for its aerial tra- 
 vels, the sting of earthly injustice; the 
 recollection of the merciless fang of 
 corrupt power, came across him; broke 
 the spell oi enchantment ; and placed 
 prisons and scaffolds in its room ! 
 
 He visited Raleigh \n the Tower. 
 He found him calm : occupied with 
 mighty plans of study; and more 
 illustrious in his misfortunes than in 
 his prosperity! Perhaps the fault of 
 Ptaleigh's mind was excess of daring- 
 ambition . The pressure of disappoint- 
 ment, the cloud of sorrow, corrected 
 its too ardent blaze ! Willotighby felt 
 
2?e 
 
 his soul comforted and elated by this 
 sight, 
 
 A great Man struggling with the storms of Fate 
 is a sublime spectacle! He said to 
 himself: « then our spirit , the best 
 part of our being, is not at the mercy 
 of Man's injustice, or cruelty ! These 
 dreary apartments: these scowling guards; 
 the waving sword ; and the suspended 
 ake, cannot weaken the elasticity of 
 an heroic and cultivated mind! To 
 me imprisonment has appeared among 
 I he most frightful of human evils. — 
 To be shut from the participation of 
 those elements, which give a spring 
 to our corporeal life ! Hideous abuse 
 of Maw's power, to in flict this puni&h- 
 ment for sliaht offences! But how much 
 more horrible still, that it should often 
 pepend on mere accusation, supported 
 
2^1 
 only by the onth of a perjured indi- 
 vidual , prompted by fraud and a desire 
 of avaricious extortion ! — Raleigh 
 smiles at these chains! glorious proof 
 of the power of genius: of the omni- 
 potence of grand and aspiring intel- 
 lect ! Hitherto his mighty faculties 
 have been darkened to my contem- 
 plation by many allays ! He now shines 
 in the brightness of the mellowest 
 splendor! His heroic actions illustrate 
 his vast knowlege : his vast knowlege 
 dignifies and cmblasons his heroic ac- 
 tions! I had begun to despair. — ; 
 Man's material part is at the mercy 
 of wickedness aud despotism! 1 look 
 at Raleigh ; and see that Mind can 
 yet be triumphant ! » — 
 
 "When "Willoughby came back to 
 his solitude, he endeavoured to take 
 
2^2 
 
 advantage of these impressions ; and 
 to reconcile himself to whatever course 
 Fate might have in store for him , when 
 he received intimation from two or 
 three quarters, that Evidence was col- 
 lecting against him in the secret bureau 
 of the State-Offire ; and urging him 
 to fly the Country, while yet it was 
 in his power. 
 
 Conscious of innocence, though fully 
 aware that innocence was but a feeble 
 protection, he heard this advice with 
 disdain. He said, « I srorn to obtain 
 my safety at the expence of afford- 
 ing the world seeming proofs of my 
 r.uilt , when I am innocent ! I have 
 never harboured a thought of Treason ! 
 1 have never entered into a single 
 eoba! ! I have rejected and abhorred 
 intrigue, much as I have seen otit! 
 
a;3 
 
 If Raleigh has dabbled in any political 
 schemes, which are open to the punish- 
 ment of the State, he knew me too well to 
 make me privy to them ! But Salisbury 
 
 suspects that I have betrayed him to 
 Raleigh. I have been put in very 
 trying situations; but never yet under 
 any provocation did I betray any 
 one ! » — 
 
 The warnings were too true In a few 
 days ^N illoughby was carried a prisoner 
 to the Tower. All his papers were seiz- 
 ed at the same time ; and carried to 
 the Secretary of State's office! He was 
 kept in close confinement ; and allowed 
 no intercourse with Raleigh; or any other 
 involved in political accusations. 
 
 The ehnrges against him were partly 
 the same as those for which Raleigh 7 
 and others, had been tried; and partly 
 
*74 
 
 special. The latter were for secret and 
 
 individual tamperings with Lady Ara- 
 bella ; for Foreign correspondence in 
 aid of his schemes , re-opening the fac- 
 tious connection for which his father 
 and grandfather had been exiled and 
 attainted ; for pretending some of the 
 rights of Royal Blood by his descent 
 from the DclapoJes; and in this vein of 
 mad ambition , even aspiring to Lady 
 Arabella's hand ! — 
 
 Some of these charges were so va- 
 gue, and the whole so multiplied , 
 that AYilloughby's sagacity instantly saw, 
 that all the advantage which the sub- 
 tlety of lawyers, Mid the ingenuity of 
 political malice, could suggest, was in- 
 tended to be taken of every possible 
 circumstance, thai could be twisted in- 
 to a meaning , that would seem to 
 
27$ 
 
 establish his guilt ! The conduct of Sic 
 Edward Coke on Raleigh's Trial assured 
 him that nothing which ferocious and 
 coarse language and the inexhaustible 
 subtlety of a head overflowing with pe- 
 dantic aad technical acuteness could 
 do , would be omitted ! 
 
 When copies of the indictments , 
 (for there was more than one), were 
 brought to him \ none but a Professio- 
 nal head could follow their intricacies. 
 And it so happened , that he could ill 
 afford to pay for the best professional 
 advice ! 
 
 He prepared for his trial as well as 
 he could. He called forth all his facul- 
 ties; and his glorious fortitude. It see- 
 med as if the prosecutors w r ere unwil- 
 ling to incur delay. A discontent was 
 fast spreading over the nation ; an opi* 
 
2j6 
 nion was every day gaining ground , 
 that Willougbby was to be sacrificed to 
 Salisbury's fears of bis disclosure of Sta- 
 te secrets relative to tbe part taken by 
 this crooked Minister in Essex's con- 
 demnation and death ; and Willoughby's 
 name , which had been hitherto little 
 known , was becoming an object of po- 
 pular idolatry. 
 
 The Trial lasted a long October d^y 
 from an early hour of the morning. 
 The Court was so crowded by every 
 person of any rank , who had activity 
 or interest to procure a seat , that such 
 an assemblage bad scarcely ever been 
 before witnessed. The eyes of all were 
 on the prisoner. He was dressed in a 
 black velvet suit and cloak, with a 
 large ruff, all resembling the Spanish 
 costume, which formed the picturesque 
 
2 7 7 
 fashion of the day ! He was tall . an (3 
 
 made with extraordinary symmetry! Mis 
 large dark eyes, always thoughtful, now* 
 deeply melancholy, were lighted by the 
 indignant fire of injured innocence. The 
 bloom of youth had been effaced by 
 misfortune; its gracefulness remained! 
 The Trial had not proceeded far , 
 when the production of YS illoughby's 
 ]\1SS. papers discovered, on what the 
 great reliance of a conviction was pla- 
 ced. The Fragments of hrs Epic poem ; 
 his characters of CotempoFaries ; Ra- 
 leigh's letters to him-; and his attem- 
 pted scheme to unravel the enigmati- 
 cal part of Raleigh's principal letter , 
 were all brought forward. Witnesses of 
 every interview with Lady Arabella de- 
 posed to what they heard ; and what 
 they pretended to have heard. Her de- 
 
fercnre to him ; the civil things she 
 said to him ,• the advice she asked of 
 him \ were all related with many in- 
 terpolations, and perversions. 
 
 That , which came on Willoughby 
 with the most surprize was a letter 
 purporting to he from an Emissary at 
 a Foreign Court , addressed to him, and 
 intercepted by the vigilance of Govern- 
 ment! « — Wheii it was read in open 
 Court, A\ illoughhy could not doubt 
 that it was a fabrication . He neither 
 knew a person, who could have writt- 
 en su< h a letter ; nor one of the dark 
 circumstances to which the writer see- 
 med to allude, as familiar to him whom 
 he addressed ! But these were things , 
 which could not in their nature admit 
 of negative proof ! 
 
 There was something like a groan 
 
2 79 
 
 through the audience , when this letter 
 
 was produced and rend. The Court , 
 which had at one time felt uneasy arid 
 depressed under the apparent symptoms 
 of disdain , and disgust, which broke 
 forth from the assembly , recovered 
 their courage; and grew again haughty > 
 and full of insults and menaces. 
 
 Some of the auditors were staggered; 
 others suspected the dreadful deception : 
 all saw the danger ! Willoughby stood 
 undaunted : but pale. He could not con- 
 ceal from himself the perils, to which 
 this ineffable act of wickedness, medi- 
 tated at his life, exposed him! 
 
 The Sun went down ; yet the pro- 
 secutors had not closed their case. The 
 Trial was adjourned to another day. It 
 was well for the audience > whose fee- 
 
q5o 
 
 '. beet k^pt on the nrkj till 
 : ! 
 
 m- 
 I ! with ej tv ottd 
 
 labour to 
 
 graut _ till \ I tkt* p ? th ♦ t th^y 
 
 \ w \ 
 
 - i 
 
 • 
 
 ■ V 
 I . 
 
 th*> D-: iT^le b 
 S ■ r > 
 
 (combined 
 ■ • ■ • 
 d*re the m 
 ' ' '■ _ 
 
 indaroii h'rn * ranst 
 
 able and . iserted that 
 
Raleigh did nothing " ^ bins; a 
 th^t bii recommendation tb and 
 
 a good person prompted I 
 avail himself gladly of the influence he 
 was likely to obtain over Lsdy Arabella, 
 30 bend her to the treasons 1 ; 
 in which sbe v- c un- 
 
 til! -nslrurner.t of tW 1 
 
 Joughby's i. 1 - - 
 
 Arabella, which could not be d; 
 
 and the enigmas of RaleL to 
 
 him , ecriibined to : ■ ■ : . - MaJble 
 
 innendos to some of tl 
 in his sketc); the II 
 
 f n Time; and to many of the al- 
 ii - 
 huioaf of l :be E [ 
 
 Poem of Alt' 
 
 some cf the c methicg like 
 
 a j . _•. . of Evidence' The— • 
 
2&2 
 
 ked up a disposition to give credit to 
 the intercepted letter : and then the 
 proofs seemed complete! 
 
 Willoughby's Counsel rebutted all 
 the circumstantial part of this Evidence 
 as they sou Id ! It unfortunalely hap- 
 pened , that he fell into the hands of 
 men , who were rather mere drudging 
 lawyers, than men of genius and lite- 
 rature ! They had little personal know- 
 lege of him ; his native charaeter ; or 
 habits. Probably , they could not have 
 Comprehended them , if they had ! 
 
 The Counsel for the Crown replied 
 with bitterness; and they had all the 
 advantage over those of the Prisoner 
 in point of ability. 
 
 When Sir Ralph was called on to 
 speak for himself, he addressed the 
 Court with au heroic dignity; and in 
 
a82 
 a strain of the most exalted eloquence. 
 He passed over all the technical sub- 
 tleties , (au omission which made a 
 chain of the most irrefragible arguments 
 go for noth'ng in the minds of the 
 lawyers); and appealed to the unso- 
 phisticated understandings of his au- 
 dience; to the sympathy of noble bo- 
 soms; to those feelings, which the bad 
 consider as delusions, but which , when 
 genuine , never yet misled the judge- 
 ment . 
 
 His melancholy , his despondence , 
 his indifference to life, gave him aug- 
 mented iorce of talent. The Court so- 
 metimes rung with the deep and mellow 
 tones of his voice ; and every heart , 
 that had sensibility, burst into agonies 
 of tears at the frequent intermixture 
 of pathetic appeals, into which, as if 
 
s?4 
 
 against his will, he fell , in tones so 
 overwhelmingly guileless ; so utterly 
 beyond the suspicion of affectation , 
 that two Of three of the simplest words, 
 two or three slight accents, pierced 
 like lightning through the whole au- 
 dience . 
 
 He explained the import of many 
 of his MSS. He declared them to be 
 materials for his Epic poem ; and with 
 an indignant force of explanation he 
 gave an account of those , which were 
 intended to form part of his Cotfin- 
 porary History. He ad m it ted that in 
 first sketches intended for private exa- 
 mination lie might now and then have 
 used colours , which on more sober 
 thought required softening. He said 
 that truth was his first object. Jf His- 
 tory was not truth , was it not worse 
 
a85 
 than idleness ? " It is the pen of the 
 Historian , that often, though not ofteu 
 enough , holds a terror over inebriated 
 Power! " said he. "My pen may be 
 suppressed : " Iip went on : '' its traces, 
 ] know , are already doomed to des- 
 truction; and the hand, that has gui- 
 ded it, is destined to be stopped from 
 a continuation of its memorials by a 
 cruel and undeserved death! It will not 
 avail! The day will arrive, when the 
 truth shall be told ; even though it be 
 at the distance of two hundred years! 
 Some tender Spirit at length shall catch 
 my flame ! My mantle shall descend 
 upon him! He shall tell, what 1 am 
 not permitted to tell , when the mouth 
 that stops me shall for ages have moul- 
 dered into the dust whence it sprung; 
 and shall be ouly remembered in the 
 
2$6 
 
 colours which Truth shall have de- 
 creed to belong to it! " — The Au- 
 dience trembled for him. He perceived, 
 that his indiguation was carrying him 
 beyond the bounds of prudence! 
 
 He had a difficult part to manage in 
 the relation of the nature and degree 
 of his intimacy with Raleigh. He was 
 too generous to attempt his defence , 
 even when the truth justified him , at 
 Raleigh's cost. He knew not how to 
 deal with the letter of Raleigh , he- 
 cause there really w<>s a mystery in it, 
 though lie was not privy to the secret. 
 
 He now and then electrified Salis- 
 bury by generous appeal-, to bim , 
 which made him doubt his own dee pi y- 
 -rooted suspicions. But darkness, f< i ar, 
 and cruilty, soon resumed their ascen- 
 dancy over Salisbury's heart. 
 
2$7 
 
 At the close of this eloquent and 
 magnanimous Defence, there -was not 
 a disinterested auditor, that doubted 
 Willoughby's innocence ! The Court 
 Was appalled : and a dreadful silence 
 of many minutes cnsned ! — 
 
 The Chief Justice then began to sum 
 up. He was embarrassed at the com- 
 mencement by W i Hough by 's dignified 
 and overpowering eloquence. He knew 
 that be had an audience strongly pre- 
 judiced against him to contend with. 
 The jargon of pedantic law and forced 
 constructions with which he mixed up 
 his summary of facts, was not merely 
 dull and repulsive , but disgusting. He 
 then launched out into an invective 
 against what he called the abuse of 
 abilities; against those, who instead of 
 takiug the patient course of labour to 
 
238 
 elevate themselves, chose to attempt 
 to gratify their ambitious desires , with- 
 out paying the price for this gratifica- 
 tion! who embraced a course of adven- 
 ture and political intrigue, that they 
 might leap into power! who addressed 
 the imagination, and the passions, 
 when they ought to appeal to reason ! 
 and who supposed that a few splendid 
 sentences of school-boy flourish would 
 overcome proof; and make black ap- 
 pear white! 
 
 "When he had said these things, he 
 congratulated himself, as if he had 
 pronounced oracular wisdom ; and was 
 surprized to find that his supposed 
 arutencss and solid sagacity had made 
 no impression on the Audience; and 
 that their impatience and disgust were 
 nearly breaking into outward and loud 
 
a8g 
 
 disapprobation ! 
 
 When he came to his conclusion , 
 he charged the Jury almost with 
 threats, telling them that in his opinion 
 the facts charged had been clearly pro- 
 ved j and if proved, that it was his 
 duty as a Judge to tell them , that 
 not a scintilla of doubt could be en- 
 tertained, that they amounted to the 
 crime of Treason. He conjured them 
 not to be led away by their feelings 
 into false mercy to a young man, be- 
 cause he could make a plausible speech! 
 That they owed mercy to those , whose 
 lives and properties were endangered by 
 conduct so wicked and ruinous as that 
 of Willoughby and his accomplices ! 
 That if they believed him to have ta- 
 lents, the severity of justice was on that 
 very account the more demanded from 
 
 12 
 
thetu ; That if they were affected by 
 his oratory , it only made him an ins- 
 trument of evil the more necessary to 
 be got rid of! 
 
 At length the Verdict of the Jury 
 was pronounced. They brought in the 
 Prisoner, Guilty. The Audience heard 
 this Verdict, with mute astonishment, or 
 rather with a groan ! 
 
 AVilloughby stood firm. His coun- 
 tenance was pale; but dignified. 
 
 When asked, if he had any thing to 
 say, before sentence was prononnced , 
 he bowed. The Audience listened with 
 breathless suspence. A word quivered 
 on his lips. His deep and mellow voice 
 then rose a we fully on the Court. 
 
 : ' I submit with patience! All that 
 
speech can do , is useless. If language 
 could prove innocence, I venture to 
 assert that I have already proved it. 
 But my lot is cast ! I can no longer 
 contend with the power of Man in its 
 wantonness ! I leave the Court ; and 
 the Jury to their own consciences ! The 
 day may come , when they may wish 
 themselves as self-satisGed in that res- 
 pect as I am! My Lords, in the midst 
 of troubles and tempt itious I have led 
 a life of entire political purity! — The 
 great and prosperous Minister , whom 
 I see yonder, and who once honoured 
 me by the name of FiTcn^l , knows ltj 
 or ought to know it! If his heart does 
 not tell him so, here, prisoner as I 
 am , found guilty of a Capital Crime 
 by a Verdict which History will record 
 with astonishment, I venture to tell 
 
292 
 
 him firmly, that I pity that heart! — 
 It is done! I am prepared for my fate ! 
 I know , there is no mercy in the breast 
 of Man! " — 
 
 He stood upright ; and firm as a rock 
 in the midst of the bellowing storm ! 
 The Audience burst into convulsions 
 of tears. A stern observer perceived that 
 Willoughby was nearly overcome by 
 this mark of sympathy. lie noticed the 
 agitations of his countenance. 
 
 The usual sentence of High Treason 
 Was now pronounced \ too painful to 
 be here repeated. 
 
 Sir R'dph was then conveyed back 
 to the Tower, to feed upon his own 
 
a £)3 
 dreadful reflections! —It was time to 
 
 eradicate from his heart all earthly- 
 ties ! 
 
 It is only whf-n we are about to lose 
 a blessing, that we begin to know its 
 value . But was existence a blessing 
 to Willonghby? To him it was surely 
 almost all hopeless suffering. Yet it was 
 not all suffering: even to him! 
 
 The hues of bliss more brightly glow, 
 Chastised by sabler tints of woe " * 
 
 What ineffable happiness had been 
 pressed into a few of his happier mo- 
 ments of life ! How more than dou- 
 bled was the enjoyment of those mo- 
 ments of bigh intellect, and unmingled 
 
 Gray . 
 
294 
 
 Innocence and -virtue ; which had no 
 after-regrets ; of which the retrospect 
 was as exquisite as the instant of their 
 presence ! 
 
 But the day approached , when a 
 ■violent and unmerited death was to 
 close this magnificent scene of things 
 to a Being, who so exalted it by his 
 abode upon it ! 
 
 How can I write in adequate lan- 
 guage the train of exalted sentiments 
 and reflections, which passed in the 
 mind of this most enlightened and sub- 
 lime young Man , at this crisis of 
 unexampled injustice and cruelty! 
 
 I am come to the close of my vo- 
 lume : and it has fallen upon me at a 
 period , when my health and spirits 
 are in a state of great depression; and 
 when my time is not at my eommand. 
 
2 fp 
 I have beguiled some of the snuVrings 
 
 during the three months' confinement 
 of a painful malady by these memo- 
 rials. I go to see " the Eternal City ; ? ' 
 the mighty relics of " the fallen Me- 
 tropolis of the World ! " * 
 
 Spirit of Him , whom I have thus 
 undertaken , at the distance of more 
 than two Centuries, to consecrate to pos- 
 terity, forgive me, that I thus desert 
 thee in the agonies of Death ; that I 
 attend thee not to the scaffold ; and 
 
 Abose Baccano the postillions 
 stopped; and pointing to a pinnacle, that 
 appeared between two hills ? exclaimed 
 Roma ! ' That pinnacle was the cross 
 of St. Peter! The " Eternal City rose 
 before us ! " 
 
 EUSTACE i. 388. 
 
2C)6 
 
 th.it I shrink from the description of 
 thy last heroic moments, more glorious 
 than all the rest of thy glorious life ! 
 Lei the reader supply my deficiency! 
 If Ke surveys thy splendid character 
 With half the admiration w«h which I 
 contemplate it ; and pities thy fate with 
 only a part of my sympathy, he will 
 satisfy thy manes ! 
 
 FINIS 
 
 Florence 20 April) 1820. 
 
LATELY PUBLISHED 
 
 I. 
 
 Coningsby , A Tragic Tale : 
 Interspersed with Poetry. 
 
 By Sir Egerton Brydges , Bart. 
 
 Geneva. Printed , Oct. 1819. 
 One volume, 12. 
 
 I I. 
 
 Lord Brokenhurst : A Tragic Tale. 
 By the Same . 
 
 Geneva. Printed Aug, 1819. 
 One small volume, ia.° 
 
sg8 
 
 III. 
 
 The Population and Riches of Na- 
 tions considered together, with refe- 
 rence both to political Strength , and 
 to Morals. 
 
 By the Same. 
 
 Geneva. Printed Au*. 1819. 
 One volume , 8.° 
 
 V In this Treatise the Principles 
 of- the Poor Laws ; the Corn-Laws ; 
 the Circulating Medium ;* and Taxa- 
 tion ^ are all discussed. 
 
PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION 
 
 A LIFE OF PETRARCH. 
 
 Drawn from original authorities ; 
 especially his own Latin Works. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to observe 
 that Mrs. Dcbson's life of this Poet is 
 a mere blundering and tasteless abridge- 
 ment of Abbe De Sade's Memoirs , 
 by a Person utterly unqualified for li- 
 terary criticism _, aud ignorant of literary 
 history , 
 
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